Twisted Fate
by milegre
Summary: As the progeny of our former stars come of age, will they find solace in one another's arms, or will they learn of one anothers secrets and burn in hatred? What will their parents do when ghosts from the past are manifest?
1. Nicholas

**A/N - I don't own any of the classic characters. (Erik, Christine, Raoul, etc etc.) I do! Own Nicholas and all the other unique one's I'll introduce. So, anyway - slow start I know but if I rushed into things then hey - the story would end sooner and there would be fewer chapters for you guys to R&R! So.. Just do it!**

---------------------

"Any day Nicholas, really!" a harsh voice called. Nicholas gritted his teeth to keep silent, and obeyed his Master. He hurried to finish the mending of the hansom cab, carefully ensuring the large wheel was securely in place.

"Finished, Monsieur." With that, the young man turned to continue on with the list of duties that recently seemed endless. His Master gave a quick and disinterested inspection of the job. Nicholas was very skilled with his hands and had never done a poor job before, he had little worries that this repair would be anything other than perfect. With a nod, he encouraged the driver to climb back into his seat behind the small cabin space and the hooves of the horse tethered to it resumed their steady cobble.

Nicholas returned to the barn, making his way to the stables which housed the horses. The majority of it's inhabitants were working diligently upon the streets of Paris, and this provided perfect opportunity to clean each stall and replace their bedding. The pungent smell of urine and decaying hay had become familiar and welcoming to Nicholas, who had been performing the same menial tasks for many years. His mind drifted back to the events that had led him here.

_The orphanage had never been a kind place, to any of the children, least of all him. The obvious scarring of his face had earned him only loathing and suffering from the other children. Even the adults scorned him, and he was often neglected in favor of the other children. If anyone should go hungry, it would be the beastly child. He was made to work much harder than any of the other, and was often isolated and beaten for no real reason. Little did he know at the time, some little girl amidst the class would make up some horrid story of an imagined assault the devil-child had committed against her, and he paid for those crimes. Nicholas had tried to run away several times, finding himself in despicable situations. They always found him, somehow, and brought him back to his torment. When he was only twelve, a greedy, round man had appeared at the doors of the orphanage and spoke hurriedly with the head Mistress. Before he knew what was happening, Nicholas and his meager belongings were settled roughly into the mans hansom and his life as a servant began. _

The affectionate whinny of a mare, heavy with child, brought him from his reverie. Though he was never treated affectionately, Nicholas (now eighteen) was rarely beaten and always fed. He provided a skilled service to his Lord, and had earned some form of respect for it. He smiled at the horse, one of his only friends, and pulled a few cubes of sugar from his pocket. She nosed his palm eagerly, and lapped the treat from them. He spent a moment brushing her mane, before continuing in his work. The evening was falling, and it would not be long before he could return to his room - and his music.


	2. A Night's Preparation

1Elizabeth Maria DeChagny set at her vanity in all but a pout. She brushed through her lustrous brown locks idly. She had stroked the silken strands at least the hundred times required already, and now was simply stalling.

"Mother, I really think this whole thing is quite silly." At eighteen, her young voice was softer than that of her mothers - which had sweetened with age. It was mellifluous and chimed like a bell.

"Elizabeth," Christine said in what she hoped was a comforting tone. She turned from the collection of jewels she had been sifting through, with token in hand. Stepping to her young daughter, she encircled the pale column of her throat with a ruby choker, kneeling to fasten it. The color was a perfect choice, delicate contrast to the milkiness of her flesh and providing the perfect hue to compliment the rosiness in her cheeks. "I know that you dread this, but really. You aren't going to be married tonight! This is your night, your party. Just have fun, my sweet child, and get to know some of the young men..."

"But I know them!" the child interrupted, standing abruptly. "I played with them as a child, or their sisters are my best friends! This is all so backwards Mother! I could find a husband for myself, if I wished."

Christine sighed at her child's impatience. She reminded her so much of herself, many years ago.

"It's a chance for everyone to celebrate you, beautiful girl. It's your birthday celebration, your debutante! Please, Elizabeth.."

The teenager softened at her mother's tone. She loved her mother dearly and could deny her little. She turned to embrace the woman she looked so similar too, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"For you, mother."

The night's occasion was a marvelous affair. Everyone in the Paris elite had been invited, and many from afar. The only child of the Vicomte DeChagny was turning eighteen, and her debutante ball was the event of the year. Many parents had designs on her hand in marriage, realizing the political and business ties they would gain through such a merger. Not to mention the money. The young men were enamored with her beauty, and were just as eager to earn her charm. Elizabeth, however, wished she could be in another place. Anywhere but at the center of all of this attention! The two turned from the room after one last glance in the looking glass, and began to descend the stairs. The sooner it began, the sooner it would end.

Below, the grand ball room of their estate had been transformed. No longer was it the lovely and charming room she had danced so often in, upon her Father's toes. It had taken on a new life and boasted all the glorious decor of a masquerade. No expense had been spared and the aroma of the food and wine, the sound of music and laughter - all made Elizabeth feel nauseous. She had overheard her mother and father talking weeks before, and realized the pressure they felt. Who she chose to marry would impact the entire family and she was almost certain they had already picked a prospective groom for her. With dread, she trudged on. When they reached the top landing, Christine released her daughters hand and stepped back - allowing Elizabeth the limelight of her moment. The music came to a less than graceful stop, and all eyes turned to the beauty atop the stairs.

Elizabeth took a deep breath to steady herself, searching through the masked faces quickly in search of any familiar. She cast a smile toward Manette Giry, only a few years her junior, and then continued on. Where was _he_? Finally, the tall and still handsome form of her Father stepped out from behind another gentleman, and walked towards her. She felt relief course through her form. Her father was her rock, and had always been so. Upon his arm, she could survive anything. She extended her hand to him, and he brushed his lips across her knuckles - smiling upwards at her.

"Bella, you have never looked more beautiful."

"Papa," his daughter replied, the beginning of a plea to save her from all of this. The rest of her lovely voice was cut off - however, as a loud voice began to announce her. She felt frantic, and squeezed her Father's arm as he stepped to her side.

"I love you, Elizabeth.." her father whispered in her ear, and before she could speak..

"Elizabeth Maria DeChagny!" Her voice echoed throughout the massive hall. Young men straightened , tugging on their waistcoats. Older women murmured appreciatively to one another, and the young woman atop the stairs pushed aside her insecurity and dread and donned the face of a socialite. She had been to dozens of these things before, she could charm her way through this one. With one last smile to her father, they began to descend the stairs as the music resumed.


	3. The Gala

"Do you enjoy reading?" The mellifluous, young voice was laden with boredom as she made an effort to entertain her male companion. Her father hovered nearby, always flashing her his handsome smile when their eyes met.

"Quite a bit, yes. Recently I acquired a copy of..." The young man she spoke with was taller than she, and handsome too. He had fine, chiseled features and a ruddy sort of blonde hair that matched the ice blue of his eyes quite well. All of the girls her age were quite smitten with him, but Elizabeth found him boring, and his affairs with a few of the other girls were quite scandalous. If she were to marry, it would be a man of honor at the very least. Elizabeth pretended to listen to his tale, nodding occasionally and inserting a rare "Mmm? Really?". Her attention was focused upon the musicians and the couples still dancing. She had always had a fascination for the way the two intertwined, though she had no skill to speak of in either realm. She could dance well enough for social occasions, but that was the extent of it. Her mother had forced the piano upon her when she was a child, but when she resisted - her father had seemed relieved and released her from the bond. Elizabeth was quite sure it had something to do with the man in her mother's past, but she did not push it.

"William," she cooed softly, placing her hand upon his forearm. Charm was a powerful tool. "If you would excuse me?"

In a swirl of material, she turned from him and approached her father - chatting busily with some of the older gentlemen.

"Papa," she interrupted softly, and he turned to smile at her. She looked so much like her mother had, when he had been reunited with her all those years ago. Her eyes were brilliant and she was vivacious, and when she smiled at him his heart melted.

"Yes, precious?"

"Would you dance with me?" How could any father refuse such a request?

"Gentlemen, if you wouldn't mind.."

"Of course not! Please!" The other men chimed in unison, smiling at the beautiful girl as well. Many of them had designs on her, as their sons or grandsons were now at a marrying age as well. Others appreciated her beauty with a lewd admiration that would infuriate her father could he read their faces. Raoul turned from the talk of business and swept his little girl into his arms, and onto the dance floor. Both were competent dancers, never would their be a DeChagny who was not. They twirled effortlessly about the other couples, smiling into each others eyes.

"This is all so silly Papa. Why don't we go for a ride?"

Raoul laughed. Riding was a passion that he had always shared with Elizabeth, even when she was a small child. There had been many times when she had wormed her way out of trouble by suggesting just that, a ride.

"This is all for you, my girl! Please try to enjoy it."

"But really, Papa! I am perfectly capable of finding a husband on my own and even if I were not, this room certainly does not have the right man in it. I mean, I know them all! They're all drab and boring or womanizers.."

Raoul glanced away a bit uncomfortably. Talk of sex with his little daughter seemed so.. Wrong.

"That's not the _only_ reason for this celebration, Beth. Your birthday is in less than a week, and all of these people wanted to celebrate with you."

Elizabeth warmed to the pet name her father had given her long ago.

"No, Papa, they wanted the free food." They both laughed, and with that - the conversation ended. The night was at least half over and she could endure the duration.

Christine, meanwhile, was making her rounds. The women were all clustered together in different parts of the room, arranged by social status. She made conversation amongst them, but found herself distracted as she watched her daughter dance with Raoul. She couldn't help but smile. She felt so fortunate to be in this place tonight. There had been many times over the years where she had nearly thrown it all away, to run into a demon's arms. When she watched the way her child looked into the face of the man she had chosen, she knew she had made the right decision. Her angel in hell could not have offered her such a life, and she was fortunate to still have it.

"William really is quite smitten with her, Christine."

Christine turned toward the voice of Jacqueline deGent, and forced a smile. Christine knew how Elizabeth felt about the rather handsome young man, but she also knew that Raoul was considering his parent's offer most seriously. They were a very wealthy family, and while Elizabeth would certainly not ever want for anything on the DeChagny fortune alone, it was an added insurance. And not of least importance, it would seal a very significant merger between Raoul and the young mans father. Christine suppressed a sigh. She wished that arranged marriages were altogether done away with!

"I can see that. I am sure she is fond of him, too.. " Christine lied.

"Let us arrange for them to spend the afternoon together, then, tomorrow. William will send for her?" Jacqueline seemed hopeful.

Christine consented with a nod. Secretly, she hoped the spirited woman inside her daughter would find the gall to frighten away the young man - since she, Christine, did not possess it.

As Jacqueline smugly turned to tell the other ladies of her lads good fortune, Christine left the circle to approach her daughter - who had just disappeared up the steps. She would not tell her now, their was no need in worrying her. Instead, she hoped to implant positive thoughts about William into Elizabeths' mind. She wondered, however, where her little Beth was going...


	4. Mysterious Rider

1The bread was stale again. It usually was. Nicholas had little taste for the finer foods in life as he was more accustomed to stale bread, nearly sour milk, and the like. Tonight was no different. He took the meal offered him by the old lady with kind eyes, and slipped out the back. Maneuvering his way through the barn, he found his room at the far end. It was a loft space, and so small he could barely stand in it. It was warm, however, and the distance it provided him from everyone else in the home was something he enjoyed. Another quiet meal to be enjoyed without the menacing or disdainful glances he always received in the main house.

Nicholas climbed the small ladder enough to deposit his food, and then finished the trek upwards until he was nestled into his tattered throw. It's smell was musky and reminiscent of the horses he spent most of his time with. He found the fragrance comforting, and wrapped it tighter around himself as reached for his food to devour it hungrily. He ate in the dark. He had precious few candles remaining, and those he had stolen from the maids inside the house. Food did not require illumination, but _music_ did. He would save the precious hours of light he had hidden away for himself for that.

His meal was scarcely sufficient and therefore took little time to finish. He felt his stomach rumble in protest. His Lord had entertained each night for nearly a week, and once the other servants had taken their fill of what was left - there had been precious little left for him. His stomach rumbled in protest, and he knew he would have to depend on his own devices tonight. He glanced to the stained and heavy duffel hidden carefully in the corner of his small space with longing. He desired more than anything else to simply sit and read, write, or play upon his small toy music box. Those things would have to wait, however. Resigned, the young boy descended the stairs again and walked through the stalls toward his favorite chestnut mare.

The horse snorted in recognition as he neared her, and dipped her large head to be stroked affectionately by her caretaker. Nicholas easily mounted the horse, preferring to ride without a saddle. It made him feel more connected to the enormous strength beneath him, and with a soft clicking sound he encouraged her out of the stable.

He would be lashed if he were caught taking a horse, _again_, and so he was as quiet as he could manage until he was out of sight of his home. Then he spurred the horse on freely, and she seemed to delight in the late evening ride as much as he. For a moment, he almost forgot he was hungry. Horse and rider became one as they wound through the nearly quiet city streets of Paris. Most of the residents were inside of their homes already, with a scattered few walking hand in hand beneath the lamp light. That is, until he neared the DeChagny estate. The sound of music filled the courtyard and radiated from the entire estate. An array of coaches waited by the curb, and the sound of talking and laughter could be heard even upon the streets outside. Whatever was going on inside, was obviously an opulent event. Nicholas spurred his horse on, before anyone could see the dirty stable boy on the borrowed horse.

The street inadvertently wound about the back of the large estate, before it continued onward. Just as the music seemed to be behind him, Nicholas heard the frenzied tot-a-lot of horses hooves. It certainly was not his mares, as he had settled her to a slow trot once they were hidden in the shadows again. This road led out of the city proper, and toward the more rural areas where the poor lived. The streetlights had waned, and in the darkness Nicholas glanced over his shoulder. A smaller man was riding toward him hastily, though Nicholas could not see his face for the hood tossed over it. The other rider was glancing over his shoulder as though he were being chased. Nicholas' curiosity had distracted him so, that he didn't realize he had turned his horse aside in the road and quite nearly blocked the entire path. The gentleman approaching had not even looked ahead, and it was only seconds before a collision that Nicholas realized his error and dug his heels into the chestnut side of his favorite horse. She responded by dashing forward, and he quickly turned just in time to see the black stallion that the other rider was mounted on buck - it's hooves flaying wildly in the air in it's fright. The rider was tossed unceremoniously to the earth beneath. Nicholas reached out with ease and caught the reins of the frightened horse, calming it even as he slipped off of his own mount. He would have welts for this, he was sure.

"Sir, I apologize - I did not realize you were coming..."

Nicholas released the reins and stooped to help the man up. The road was sticky with the mud that a previous downpour had left behind, and he felt the massive cloak that the man was hidden beneath weighted down by it. The figure did not seem pleased with his assistance.

"Your position would suggest otherwise!" A tart voice snipped at him, and Nicholas was taken aback. It was a woman's voice.

"I.. Uh.. Mademoiselle... " Before he could speak further, the tiny figure tossed her hood back defiantly and Nicholas' breath caught in his throat. Surely he would be condemned to hell, because he had caused one of the very angels from heaven to fall into the mud.

The brilliant brown of Elizabeth DeChagny's eyes flashed with a pent up frustration. She hardly seen Nicholas when she looked over him, before casting a wary gaze over her shoulder.

"Speak of this to no one, and .. Here." The young woman shrugged off the cloak, which must have belonged to a man that was a bit larger than her, and thrust it into Nicholas's hands.

"It's dirty, but that's quite your fault. Once it is cleaned well, it is an exquisite cloak and payment for your silence."

Nicholas was still stunned to silence. Once she had removed her Father's cloak, the shape of her body beneath the rather exquisite dress she had chosen for her gala was exposed. She was perfect, beautiful..

"Well?" She stamped impatiently. "Are you suddenly mute as well?"

"No, my lady.. " Nicholas stated quietly, and for the first time Elizabeth actually looked at him. His voice was superb, an interesting melody that did not seem to suit the ragged clothes and dirty hair that was allowed to hang in his face, shielding one entire half of it from her gaze. The other half, however, was quite handsome and Elizabeth felt a pity for him. It was unfortunate that other people had to live in such dire circumstance. She sighed and reached into her pouch, pulling out a few gold coins.

The pity that flashed in her eyes was enough to shake Nicholas from his reverie, and he pulled whatever scrap of dignity he had retained about him. He quickly tossed the cloak onto the back of her steed, and mounted his own.

"I do not need your pity, nor your coins or cloak. The only price I ask for my silence, is your name."

Elizabeth was taken aback. She had never seen a pauper reject a handout, and felt slightly bruised. In a bit of a pout, she replied.

"Elizabeth," and that was all she would offer. Nicholas smiled, and she started at the power of it. In another place or lifetime, he would have been a very handsome man. Before she could ask his name, he had turned on his horse and disappeared into the darkness that swallowed the road ahead.

The mood of her reckless ride had been abated, a chance meeting with an unusual man providing as much daring as she needed for one night. Elizabeth slipped back into the saddle of her horse, this time riding like a lady. She dare not put the dirty cloak back on atop her unsoiled dress. The party continued still, she was sure, and if she hurried - she doubted anyone would have noticed her absence.


	5. A Chance Meeting

**Please review! I use all of your comments to help guide the story. Please, please, I need a muse or two! **

Christine was waiting in Elizabeth's room when her daughter entered. She had followed her child all the way into the stables, and watched as she fled upon her fathers horse. Elizabeth had always been a brazen child, infuriated by the confines that being a 'lady' had placed on her. She had rather loudly voiced her opinion on riding side-saddle, and it was little surprise to Christine that her daughter was riding like a man, in her fine evening gown! She had allowed herself a laugh, and returned to Beth's room to wait.

She could not afford humor now. Things must change. While Christine had no desire to snuff out the spirit that set Elizabeth apart from others, she was a realist and Elizabeth must marry soon, and stop being such a child.

"Mother," Elizabeth said, surprised. There was little evidence of the adventure she had taken in the past hour, as she had deposited the soiled cloak for the maids to care for and had washed the grime from her hands. She smiled prettily. Charm was not quite as effective with her mother, as her father.

"Elizabeth, where did you go?" Christine's voice was cool and concerned.

"Just for a ride, mama." Elizabeth dropped onto her bed.

"You've got to stop this silliness, Elizabeth. We've always fostered your imagination and tried to cater to your every whim. We've allowed you the spirit that causes so much chaos because we love you and want you to enjoy life fiercely. But, my sweet child, it is time to learn to separate the two. You must behave as a woman and as a child, and each in their appropriate times. Our guests are leaving, and you were scarcely there for half of the night! This irresponsibility has got to stop, Elizabeth, really..."

Christine's voice had raised slightly toward the end, and Elizabeth sat up with a frown.

"Mother, please, don't get upset again. I am sorry."

Christine sighed. When Elizabeth had been a young child, Christine would randomly fall into bouts of depression that would leave her weeping in the darkness and solitude of her room for a weeks time. Then she would emerge as though nothing had happened and continue on. Elizabeth had come to the conclusion, as children usually do, that it was her fault somehow and even now - years since she had wept over _him_, her daughter feared such an event each time Christine's voice lifted.

"Elizabeth, do not chastise me. I am fine, and you will take heed to my words. It is time to behave like the beautiful young woman you are."

Christine stood and crossed to her daughter, kissing her forehead.

"Now to bed with you, then. William will call for you tomorrow, and I accepted the invitation."

Elizabeth scowled, and began to complain rather loudly as Christine stepped out the door. It was her life, why could they not just leave her be?

Nicholas awoke early the next morning. He had slept little. His dreams had been tormented by the vision of Elizabeth, the unexplainable young woman he had nearly killed the night before. The curve of her lips and hue of her curls were enchanting, and just when he thought his mind had imagined every inch of her - he'd think of another. The way she had lifted her chin defiantly, or the hesitant quiver when she had looked back. He sighed, and sat up. Better to begin the days work early and have a better chance to finish in time for a square meal tonight.

His days consisted of the same series of mundane tasks. He would rise, and after washing up himself - he would feed and water all of the animals, and then begin grooming each one. This process took several hours, and must be completed by the time the sun rose in the east. Paris was a busy city and a hansom cab was a convenient form of transportation. His Master had quite the monopoly on the business, and so everything must be in perfect order. Nicholas had all of the horses shackled to their respective cabs by the time each driver arrived from their morning meal. He would watch them all trod off into the dusty street to begin another days work. Nicholas would begin the endless round of repairs and maintenance needed to keep things running smoothly while they carried various citizens from one place to another for the better part of the day.

The only break in this routine would come when one or more of the riders were sick. Then Monsieur Carwell would rouse him early, and inform him that he would need to drive today. Nicholas welcomed this distraction. He enjoyed listening to the gossip of his fare as he toted them from one place to another.

This morning was just such a morning. Conveniently, Nicholas had already finished the early morning duties by the time Carwell came to rouse him.

"Peter is sick, and you must take his route. DeGent has requested a hansom for the better part of the morning, and you will take him." Carwell had no reason to doubt Nicholas would carefully follow his instructions, so he continued on his rounds without further discussion. As a side note, he said as he walked away. "Have Gerrie clean you up, Nicholas. I won't have you smelling as you serve."

Nicholas always welcomed the opportunity for a bath, and so he hurried into the main house were the older lady, Gerrie, with kind eyes - had already drawn him a bath.

"I found a few things that Thomas had tossed. I mended them, and I think they would fit you, Nicholas. I will leave them for you."

Thomas was the snooty eldest son of Jonathon Carwell, and remarkably close in size to Nicholas. Nicholas offered the kind lady a smile, and then busied himself with his bath. When he emerged, the visage of a dirty stable boy had been transformed. He was quite handsome in the clothing Gerrie had provided, and his raven locks were smoothly combed back, revealing the handsome structure of his face - and also the horrid disfigurement. It affected only one cheek, not the entire side of his left face. The flesh was a vicious red and bubbled as though it had been scalded with acid and left to rot. Gerrie's eyes reflected a sadness as she looked upon him. She hurried away, and returned with a soft cloth. Nicholas turned it within his hands. It was a sort of mask. A dark velvet that was cut to shield only half of his face, and a whole was cut proportionately to his eye. He smiled at her in appreciation, and tied it on.

"Thank you, Gerrie." It really was a poor replica of an ivory mask that had existed in another time, another place.

To finish the outfit, Nicholas donned a hooded cloak - and of course pulled the hood. With his Lords approval, he hopped behind the reins of the hansom and was soon off toward the DeGent estate - quite possible the finest home in all of Paris. The boy who entered the cab there was nothing of not aloof, simply instructing Nicholas onward toward the DeChagny estate.

When they arrived, Nicholas waited patiently - observing the flutter of butterflies about a particular tree in the front lawn. He wondered what it was about the pink buds that enticed the creatures so, as it seemed dozens of them hovered near it. Nicholas could hear speaking, and it sounded like a bit of conflict. He paid little mind, watching the butterflies as they moved en masse to hover over the walkway. The snobbish William DeGent would have to scatter them to get through, and Nicholas smirked at the idea.

The figure that imposed itself through the beautiful flutter of multi-colored wings was not masculine at all, however. It was Elizabeth, _his_ Elizabeth. She was dressed in a more simple dress that still hugged every curve. The pale blue accentuated her porcelain countenance and William dropped the reins. She was a.. a.. DeChagny! His heart was pierced with the revelation. Any fancy he may have had about ever meeting with her again was shattered. She could not be further out of his reach.

She was escorted by William into the hansom, and as they settled - Nicholas remembered himself and brought the cab to a roll. He glanced towards the massive estate where Elizabeth must have grown up, and seen a woman who looked remarkably similar to Elizabeth standing in the doorway with a saddened expression. It must be her mother, Nicholas thought - glancing down through the portal in the top of the hansom. He could see the curls bounce with the horses stride, and sighed. This would be a long day.


	6. An Unusual Date

**A/N - While I am enjoying this story a great deal, it's impossible to tell if ANYONE else is if no one reviews! I'll probably only post a few more chapters and then stop until I get a review or two. Yeah yea, pity party I know but really! I could write this for myself and skip the whole process of fighting with ff to get it uploaded and yada yada. But I'd much rather share - so let me know what you think!**

William DeGent was nothing if not decisive. He had deposited a very generous sum into Nicholas' palm, and then tattered off a list of places they would visit. Nicholas obliged, steering the comfortable hansom through the streets until they arrived first at a rather fine diner. Nicholas watched with a stab of longing as the handsome suitor led Elizabeth from the coach and toward the building. He settled to wait.

--

Elizabeth pulled her hand from William's grasp, yet again. She wondered how many times she would have to repeat the same gesture before he would give up. They stepped from the bright street into the dimly lit building, and even Elizabeth felt more at ease. This was her favorite diner, and her father had brought her here often when she was younger. The decor was warm and inviting, and even in mid-day it was dim and seemed secretive inside. A waiter escorted them to a table, and William pulled the chair out for her.

"Thank you," she offered softly, settling. The waiter offered them both a menu, but before Elizabeth could take it - William had ordered for both of them. The waiter was taken aback at first, but then simply consented with a nod and a smile. He turned to fetch their drinks.

"I hope you don't mind, I'm sure you will like it." William smiled arrogantly.

Elizabeth clenched her teeth. Her disgust with this young man was only increasing. Her mother's plan was backfiring. "Really, William.." she began in careful tones. "I may be a woman, but I am quite capable of ordering for myself. Thank you, though."

William seemed to ignore her comment. "A new show opens in three weeks, at the Opera Populair. I've always found the opera a bit drab, but Mother says you would enjoy it thoroughly. Would you accompany me?"

It was infuriating how this man could insult her with every word! Her mind stumbled over the possibility of going to the opera. It had always been shrouded in mystery. Her parents would never let her attend any of the showings, and the idea of them taking her was ludicrous. She had longed to go, and if Elizabeth DeChagny had ever been denied anything in her lifetime - this would be it. How could her mother say no, if she was accompanied by the fool they wanted her to marry?

"I would love to." Elizabeth flashed one of her brilliant smiles, and seen William relax a bit. The waiter returned with a bottle of wine, carefully pouring a glass for each of them. Elizabeth allowed slender fingers to curl loosely about the stem of her goblet, toying with the dark liquid within her glass more than drinking it. William, obviously, had a taste for alcohol as he was on his second glass within moments.

Silence lulled. William had absolutely nothing to say that was of interest to Elizabeth, and she doubted she could entertain him either. They were too different, quite polar opposites. Grasping for filler, William began to speak of business - of how the merger between his family and her own would benefit them both. He spoke of the money it would undoubtedly bring in, and nearly every other detail except for one. He failed to mention that her hand in marriage was the price, the turn key. The conversation lasted through most of dinner and the entire bottle of wine that William single-handedly finished. He had a good start on another, by the time the pair left the quiet diner.

Elizabeth squinted at the onslaught of sunlight as they stepped back into the street. She could hardly see for a moment, and could not locate her hansom. William, quite drunk already, was slurring something to a passerby. The quiet control of horses hooves caught her attention, and their hansom arrived. The driver stepped down from his perch and opened the door, offering his hand to Elizabeth. William teetered precariously off balance, and was of little assistance. Instead, Elizabeth allowed the man who was still, despite the warmth, shrouded in that cloak - to help her in. She settled onto the seat, and the stench of alcohol followed.

"To the park!" William demanded of Nicholas, who easily took the reins. The man was vile and did not deserve such a beauty at his side. Disgusted, he urged the horse onward toward the park in the center of the city.

The park was well-known and never without patronage. The city had spent a considerable sum only years before to invest in it, having declared that it would only bolster tourism. A large pond graced the very center of it, surrounded by an expanse of green lawn that hosted all sorts of colored flowers, benches, walking paths, and even a gazebo that overlooked the water. It had always been a favorite place for Elizabeth to visit as a child, as well. As they approached this day, the grounds were teeming with people. William spoke to Nicholas when they stopped. They would prefer a ride instead. Judging by the disdain obvious in the young woman's countenance, Nicholas was willing to wager that she'd rather be rid of her companion entirely.

Nicholas wound about the park, and through the city streets until he rounded the DeChagny mansion. A few miles beyond were the slums, but between this place and that was a most beautiful ride - large trees heavy with flowers bent over the road until their branches entwined. It was the same road where he had first met Elizabeth, the night before. He wondered if she had thought of him since.

"Stop!" William barked.

Nicholas obliged, hopping down from his perch to inquire as to the problem.

"We'll walk for a while, wait here." The young man clumsily helped Elizabeth from the carriage.

"William, really. It is getting late in the afternoon and I have things to help mother with. Couldn't we just return?" Elizabeth seemed uneasy, and Nicholas glanced warily to the inebriated man beside of her.

"Just a stroll, little Beth. Then we'll go." He looped his arm about the feisty girls waist in an indecent manner, whisking her off toward the path that traced the treeline along the road. Nicholas suppressed a growl and turned from the sight, moving to stroke the noble nose of the horse whom he had driven hard for part of the day. He was lost in angry thoughts, the murderous part of him that he struggled so much to quell had tasted his anger at William and forced itself to the surface. These thoughts often frightened Nicholas, as he felt he had precious little control over them - and this battle waged within him now, thoroughly distracting him from the couple who walked away.

Before he had realized what was happening, Elizabeth and William were in some sort of scuffle. Nicholas turned just in time to see Elizabeth turn in anger from the young man, and run back towards the hansom.

William followed, tackling the girls form to the ground. He rolled her roughly beneath him, from belly to back. With spirit, Elizabeth clawed at his face. William's eyes shone viciously. He lifted his hand to strike her, and dealt a blow that sent her head reeling to one side.

"You're to be my wife, little Beth. Your father has already agreed to it. Like me, or not - you will belong to me. Now, I will have you.."

The smell of alcohol on his breath was nauseating, and as he roughly thrust his weight between her thighs and struggled with the layers of skirt that separated him from her, Elizabeth thought she may vomit.

"Help!" She whimpered, teary eyes cast toward the hansom. The driver, however, was gone.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	7. Familiarity

1Cold hands ripped at Williams shoulders, wrenching him off of his prey in a single thrust. As the drunken man fell to his back he squinted up at the dark figure above him. Perhaps it was the wine, but his vision seemed to fail him. It seemed a shadow loomed over him. When the wraith moved, however, the sunlight reflected off of the unmasked portion of his face and William recognized the driver of the hansom. How dare such a peasant interfere! He growled viciously and struggled to his feet, quite nearly tackling the other man. Nicholas hit the ground roughly, the air forced from his lungs. He grasped at the neck of the man atop him, who meanwhile clamored for Nicholas face. His fingers found their purchase easily, and he began to squeeze. Within seconds William's face had turned a wicked shade of red, and then his lips began to pale. They were quite blue, and the bloodlust rushed through Nicholas with such force it left a decadent pleasure behind. Death was at his fingertips, his to control.

"No! Please!" An angel of mercy pleaded on the fools behalf, and Nicholas tried to focus upon that sound.

"Stop it!" A frightened voice appealed to him again, and Nicholas glanced toward Elizabeth. Suddenly the whole world returned around him in a crash, and he tossed William off of him quickly. The man gasped for air, choking and sputtering as he did so. Nicholas righted himself, and approached the woman whom William had assaulted. He offered her his hand, and she accepted with little hesitation. He pulled her to her feet.

"Are you alright, Mademoiselle?"

The voice was so familiar.

William, meanwhile, in his pride, had found a rather large rock to heave in Nicholas' direction. He was a terrible aim while drunk, however, and it struck the horses hoof instead. The frightened beast whinnied pitifully, and then darted away down the path.

"Fool!" Nicholas hissed, dealing William a blow to render him unconscious. He cast an apologetic glance towards Elizabeth, then took off in a sprint after the frightened horse. She was obviously wounded, as a trail of blood lingered in the dirt road behind - and she could not gallop as quickly as usual while attached to the hansom. These two factors worked to Nicholas' advantage and within moments he had caught up with the cab and halted it's reckless retreat.

Elizabeth was left frightened upon the side of the road with the unconscious form of the man who may as well be her betrothed. And her would be rapist. She trembled with anger, and spat on his heaped form for good measure. She would rather die than marry such a man. The slow sound of horses hooves distracted her from her inward tangent, and she glanced up. The assaulted horse limped horribly as it approached, and beside it - a young man. The heavy cloak was gone. Now she could see the handsome clothes he wore, and oddly - a dark mask shielding at least half of his face. The exposed half seemed so familiar, and she stared upwards at him as he approached.

"Last night," she whispered, as though she were dreaming. "It was you? But you looked so... "

"Filthy?" Nicholas offered simply.

"I was going to say different. Where is the hansom?"

"The horse cannot pull on this foot. We shall have to walk." Nicholas replied.

Elizabeth nodded, and glanced back to William on the roadside. "Thank you for your help. He is such an animal, I've always known - but I guess the drink only brings out his worst."

Nicholas inclined his head. "You're going to marry him?"

Elizabeth was surprised at his interest. He was, after all, only a cabby. She furrowed her brow. "No," she replied guardedly. "Why do you ask?"

Nicholas realized his mistake and cringed inwardly. He could not afford to show her his interest. Rejection from an angel would surely sting more than any ever had. "You deserve much better, Mademoiselle." His reply soothed Elizabeth's frayed nerves.

"You obviously ride well," Nicholas smirked, a teasing reference to their encounter the night before. "Can you lead her?" He offered the horses reins.

"Of course!" Elizabeth accepted them eagerly, stroking the frightened and pained horses majestic neck with a tenderness that did not go unnoticed. Nicholas begrudgingly lifted William from the ground and over his shoulders roughly, then nodded toward the city.

"You like horses?" He inquired, and she responded with animation. The entire trip had taken no more than fifteen minutes out of the city, but on foot with an injured horse and an unconscious man, it took over an hour for them to return. Elizabeth and Nicholas chatted excitedly about all manner of things. Music, literature, art, and of course horses. Elizabeth mentioned, with obvious longing, her desire to visit the opera. Nicholas seemed to drink in her every word as though it were ambrosia, and they both nearly forgot the reason they were on foot.

They neared the DeChagny estate.

"I would rather leave him here," Nicholas suddenly interrupted their pleasant conversation as he shifted the enormous burden atop his shoulders. "So that I may tend to the horse properly."

"Of course! If you will, bring him into the sitting room and my father will take care of the situation." Elizabeth left the horse with the help in the stable, and led him around the enormous grounds. They entered the magnificent home. It was busy with activity, maids bustling about trying to recover from the gala the night before. Nicholas felt so very small in such a opulent place, and terribly out of place. He followed the beauty before him as she led him through several rooms and finally motioned toward a chair. She pushed it's footstool closer, that he may drape the unconscious man upon it. She smiled to Nicholas in thanks, and was about to speak when she heard..

"Oh my! Elizabeth! What has happened? I thought you were gone a bit longer than I had imagined but really.. What happened to William?" Christine Daae DeChagny rushed into the room, looking past her daughter and companion toward the DeGent heir.

"Oh mama, it really was dreadful.." Elizabeth replied, turning to look at Nicholas. He was, however, gone.

Christine followed her daughters gaze, to the shadow that had slipped from the room and quickly disappeared out the door.

"Elizabeth," her mother said in trembling voice. "Did he wear a mask?"


	8. Secrets Held

**A/N - Again, I don't own Raoul or Christine or any of our classic characters. Nicholas and all the rest ARE mine. I know you may be getting antsy, but we will meet our beloved Phantom very soon! Trust me! This will be my last update until at least Thursday, probably Friday. I am going to meet the Phantom himself tomorrow! Wooooooooo! At any rate... P L E A S E review if you have read this. **

----------------------------------------------------------------

Elizabeth stared into the ashen face of her mother. Christine had that familiar and haunted expression, and Elizabeth felt weary of it.

"Really, Mother, what does it matter?" Elizabeth also felt a bit defensive over the young man who had disappeared so quickly. He may have been a bit odd, but he had saved her pride and so much more. He had been nothing but kind, and in truth, he was a fascinating person that was more like herself than anyone Elizabeth had ever met.

Christine moved to the chaise and settled unceremoniously into it. She felt dizzy. "Did he, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Mother, I believe so. I hardly noticed."

This could not be! _You're being foolish,_ Christine chided herself. _Many babies are born with birth defects! Why not another?_ It was too coincidental it seemed, though. The man had looked young, quite close to the age of her own Beth. The timing would be perfect. She just had to know what lay beneath that mask. Christine attempted to pull her wits about her, brushing an errant lock from her eyes as she sat up more rightly.

"You are to stay away from that young man, Elizabeth. I never want you in his preesnce again."

"But Mother!" Elizabeth protested.

"Enough!" Christine spat, and Elizabeth shrank from the voice. Christine had never used such a tone with her.

"But Mama," Elizabeth repeated, in a much more convincing tone. "You don't even know what he has done for me!"

The cool gaze that Christine leveled upon her said all that Elizabeth needed to hear. Her mother didn't care what Nicholas had done, even that he was the only thing that kept her honor intact. How did her mother know Nicholas, and what could he have done that was so terribly offensive?

Elizabeth realized the futility of the struggle, and glanced toward William. Perhaps it would be best to keep the entire happenings a secret. Christine obviously would not be swayed by the valor of her other companion, and Elizabeth wondered if the further threat to his reputation would help her keep William in queue.

After a moment of tense silence, the unconscious boy began to stir. At precisely the same moment, Raoul entered. He crossed to Christine and placed a kiss on her temple, scarcely noticing her distant expression. He moved then to his lovely daughter, and repeated the gesture - only then noticing William, who by now was nursing his nearly shattered jaw.

"What in the world?" Raouls voice was worried, and William jerked his head up quickly. It seemed that he only now realized where he was. A worried glance was cast toward Elizabeth. What had she told them?

"Are you alright?" Elizabeth spoke toward William, moving to perch herself near him on the ottoman. "Really Father, it was terrible! William and I went for a walk and William was skipping stones along the pond. It was very unfortunate, but a stone accidentally slipped and struck the horse! Such a small thing did not hurt the creature, surely, but it gave it an awful fright. William tried to stop it, but was nearly ran over by the carriage instead. Do you think it's broken?"

Wililam was slack-jawed as he listened to Elizabeth and her fabricated tale. He mistook her coy thoughtfulness for affection however, and smiled at her. With her back to both of her parents, she shot him an icy glare.

"Oh, my! William, please, we will send for the doctor and alert your father immediately. I am sorry such a thing should happen!" Raoul sprang to action, sending servants scurrying to do just as he had promised. Christine did not budge from her seat. The slight tremble in her daughters voice betrayed her, and Christine knew the entire story was a lie as well. She would have to talk to her daughter, alone. There were secrets that even Raoul could not be made aware of.

-------------------------------------------------------

"Bloody hell!" It was Thomas, and the last person Nicholas would have desired to see. Nicholas trod slowly with the injured horse and no hansom back toward the stables. "Are you ever gonna get it for this! Where is the cab? And what have you done to the horse?" Nicholas ignored the boy, only a few years his senior, and continued on - leading the horse to her stall. When he realized he was not going to get the reaction he desired from Nicholas, Thomas scurried off to find his father. Nothing gave him more satisfaction than seeing Nicholas beaten. Nicholas gathered the necessary items and knelt to inspect the wound.

It was deep, and not nearly as broad as the blood would have lead you to guess. It was a blunt wound, from the force of the large object - and would leave the flesh surrounding it painfully sore more than anything. The massive creature whinnied in pain as he rinsed the debris from it.

"I am going Thomas, do calm down!" Nicholas heard his master say, as he scuffled with his eldest through the stable. He could hear Thomas' labored and excited breathing.

Jonathon gasped as he rounded the edge of the stall.

"What has happened?" He scowled, stepping back a bit. He did very little, if any, of the actual handling of the horses and the sight of blood made him feel nauseous.

"Your DeGent passenger picked up a young lady. DeChagny. He became inebriated, insisted on a walk, tried to rape her, nearly killed the horse in effort to kill me when I stopped him. I dropped them both off at the DeChagny estate and brought the horse back immediately. The hansom is safely hidden, but I should take a different horse to fetch it as soon as I can."

An entire afternoon of drama was summed up concisely in one short paragraph, and Carwell stared at his servant slack-jawed. What did this mean? Would he now bear the fury of DeGent, or the adoration of DeChagny for the actions of his slave? His temples throbbed. He had to figure this all out. For now, he'd leave the boy before him to deal with the details. He just nodded.

"Very well. See to it."

He turned and began to leave the stables, with his annoyed son following along behind and complaining loudly at the lack of discipline Nicholas had received. Nicholas, however, released a pent up sigh of relief.


	9. Identity

**A/N - I don't own Christine. Or Raoul. Or Erik, even though it will be at least another couple of chapters (probably more) before we meet him. I do own all of my other little lovies.**

**Thanks for the peachy reviews! It makes me want to write even more, even quicker - hah, so keep them coming!**

**Oh, and my-echo... tit for tat. Your turn:)**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elizabeth was ill with confusion and worry. She sat in the back of the carriage, nervously twisting the material of her dress betwixt ivory fingers. Her mother had approached her again in the evenings before, continually warning her to never be near Nicholas again. The arrogant youth in her had only been aroused at such warnings and longed even more to meet with this enchanting young man.

That was not, however, the primary reason for her visit today. Nestled securely in a small bag were an abundance of heavy coins. She would have to make sure Nicholas had told no one, to make sure he understood. She would buy his silence, if she must. It seemed ironic that both times they had met, she had found need to purchase just that from him.

"We're here, M'selle." The driver drawled lazily. Elizabeth shook from her reverie. The home before her was mid-size and rather decent. It could not compare with the estate she lived in, and certainly not DeGent, but it seemed comfortable. Even more inviting, Elizabeth thought. She stepped from the carriage, and approached the door. Before she could lift her hand to the heavy brass knocker, a voice interrupted her.

"May I help you?"

Elizabeth turned, putting on a pretty smile for the young man who stood before her. It was Thomas.

"Yes, please. I am trying to locate a Monsieur Nicholas.. Ah..." It was only then that Elizabeth realized she did not know his last name. She flushed. Thomas, already smitten by her beauty, mistook it for a sort of affection toward him. His smile was radiant.

"Ah, the stable boy. Rolling in the muck with the horses, I'm sure. What need do you have of him?" Insulting Nicholas in the presence of such a beautiful lady gave Thomas a twisted sense of superiority.

Elizabeth felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. _"Stable boy?"_ she sputtered, sweet voice tinged with shock. She had realized he was not a noble. He was driving a hansom, for goodness sake. She had never imagined that he was a .. a... servant! Her head was swimming, and she felt as though she needed to return home.

_You are **never** to see that man again, Elizabeth. Do not cross me!_

Her mother's words echoed in her mind, and she found a new resolve. When the haze of surprise lifted, she realized that she rather _had_ to see him. There was the matter of William to discuss. She glanced up to realize that Thomas was staring at her.

"Oh, do excuse me. I felt a little warm. My business with him will not take long, I assure you. If you would please tell him I am here."

"I can take you to him," Thomas offered wryly, deciding that perhaps appeasing her would earn her good graces. The smile that she offered him sealed that thought in his mind.

"This way," he smiled, offering his arm. Only after she didn't take it and stepped past him only a pace or two did he shrug his shoulders against the discomfort, and take the lead. Such an odd woman!

Carriages came and went. The primary entrance to the stables and ultimately his dwelling was situated only several hundred yards from one of the busiest thoroughfares in all of Paris. Nicholas was not alarmed when the sound of a carriage approached and stalled in front of the home. His master had visitors often. The hay crunched beneath his feet and the steady breathing of his patient would have drowned out any remnants of the lyrical voice conversing so near to him. He was entirely caught off guard when he heard Thomas approaching. Oddly, it sounded as though someone was with him.

"Where are you, little fool?"

Elizabeth shuddered at the vicious tone, suspecting Thomas capable of cruelty. There was a rustling in the stall ahead, and Thomas paused at it's heavy wooden door. "You have a visitor," he hissed rather sarcastically. Elizabeth could not yet see within. Thomas began to laugh. "What, a new scrap of clothing?" His mirth continued as Elizabeth stepped closer, just in time to see the gaze cast between the two men. Nicholas' eyes burned with a rage and threat that frightened even Elizabeth, and made her for a moment consider her mother's words.

Thomas simply scowled, and left as promptly, leaving the arid room in silence.

"Nicholas," she purred softly, in attempt to wipe the cruel grimace from his face.

The sweet tinkling of a bell or the hum of an angels harp. That is what her voice sounded like, and it shook Nicholas from his murderous reverie. If he could kill anyone, it would certainly be Thomas. His gaze shifted, leveling on Elizabeth. Immediately, he softened - and she could sense it in him as well. The slight shudder to her sweet shoulders ceased, and she stepped closer.

"How did you find me?" He murmured, sounding somewhat displeased as he crouched by the injured foot of the horse and continued his remedy. It was only then that Elizabeth realized the state he was in. It had only been days since he had last bathed, so he was certainly not putrid - but his flesh was colored with a layer of grime and sweat that made him seem stronger - more rugged. His hair was tangled and uncombed, and the only familiarity she found was his beautiful eyes and the dark mask that concealed a portion of his face. For the first time since she had met him, she felt a twinge of curiosity. She longed to reach for him, to brush the soft material from his face and fully see this man who somehow captured her imagination.

"It was not hard. The hansom has the family crest upon the side. I had not assumed you worked.. Lived.. I mean.. I only came for your address." Elizabeth stammered a bit awkwardly, feeling suddenly very out of place in her delicate gown.

"What do you need?" Nicholas' felt horrid for treating her so cooly, but oh what she must be thinking! He was filthy, and in his hovel of a home. Of course, she didn't know that. Still yet, he felt desperately exposed and vulnerable, and as though every fantasy he may have fostered about this angel would be shattered before his very eyes. She would never come to find him again, of that much he was certain.

"I just.. to.." Elizabeth lifted a hand to press it against the wood of the door that still separated them. She had forgotten why she had come. To remove the mask? No, no. There was something else!

"I've missed your company."

The words surprised them both, and felt foreign as they fell from her tongue. Nicholas glanced up sharply, and Elizabeth again blushed beneath the weight of his stare. He seemed.. Shocked?

"Tonight," he nearly whispered, his voice somewhat husky with emotion. "Where we first met. We'll talk then."

With that, Nicholas pushed the stall door open gingerly, allowing her time to step aside. He smiled down into her eyes, gazing for a moment at the tremulous quiver of her lower lip. He turned quickly, then, and strode away - leaving her alone in the stables to find her composure. Finally, she did. She turned and strode away toward the carriage, settling into it. How infuriating! No one made such commands of her. It made her feel out of control, and strangely elated. She was excited and the night could not come soon enough.


	10. Moonlight

**A/N. - Review, review, review! Thanks for all of the kind ones. This is not going to be an instant gratification sort of story, so buckle up. It may take a while. Oh, and yeah.. I don't own Christine, still. Or Raoul. Or the Erik. Or.. anyone else that you know I don't.!**

The evening was cool. A delicate breeze danced through the streets of Paris, flirting with the gauzy layers of ladies dresses and playfully tipping men's hats. Elizabeth felt exhilarated as she tiptoed through the kitchen. She had not mentioned her outing to anyone, and had waited until the house had calmed for the night. It was dark, and she did not even dare light a single candle to guide her. Instead, she creeped slowly along - a small hand extended to warn her of any impending danger. Without event, she managed to arrive at the door which led to the atrium betwixt the main house and the servants quarters. She cast one last glance back into the dark house, and then slipped out the door - holding her breath as it clicked into place. Stepping into the yard, she felt the lilting winds embrace her and shivered involuntarily. She should have brought a cloak. The dark door loomed before her, and she decided she would make do without it. She could not risk another trip through the dark domain. Instead she turned, and sprinted toward the stables.

Her favorite steed, the black stallion her father had bought for her when she was younger, stamped at the earth in his stall. It was as though the beast could feel her excitement as well, and yearned to run free. Elizabeth whispered softly to him as she led him from the stables, and a good distance away from their home on foot before she mounted. It was terribly late, and she half expected that Nicholas would have already left.

It was not far to the point in the road where he had nearly caused her to be trampled underfoot by her own horse, not so many nights before. She rode quietly, urging restraint in her companion as he snorted eagerly.

"Quiet, Zeus. You'll have us both found out. Not much further."

Her voice was soft and comforted her against the silence that seemed to consume her. She shivered once more, but not against the chill. The darkness suddenly seemed so desperate.

"Nicholas?" She called, her voice tinged with more than a little hope. Silence greeted her. Elizabeth cast a glance behind. If he had already left, she should return as quickly as she could manage. These roads were notorious for being traveled by thieves and the like, and she was simply a woman.

The horse beneath her shifted, and Elizabeth could feel the difference in him. Frightened, she turned quickly to face the road before her, only to see a cloaked figure with his hand looped around the reins that she had allowed to go slack. He began to lead her horse a bit further down the road, and into the bush.

"Nicholas?" She repeated, warily. Why would he not answer her. The figure turned, and lifted his head. For a moment, she could see the icy blue of his gaze and he lifted a finger to his lips. His task resumed, and he led her mount along a path Elizabeth had never noticed before. It would dangerously close to the main road, but was obscured by the overgrowth. It was narrow and ill-used, and suddenly Elizabeth felt as though she were being taken to a secret place. She could only watch, feeling quite the helpless child, as the broad shoulders of the man before her swept her away from any security. No one would ever find her here.

Should she be afraid? The thought had not yet crossed her mind. Would Nicholas harm her? She knew very little about him, but the twisted emotion that turned within her had no hint of fear. She smiled, contemplating the discussions they had shared.

"Elizabeth."

He had spoken, that languid voice which soothed her soul. It broke her reverie, and she glanced down to find his hood brushed back - and he was staring up at her, hand extended. The dirty image of him in the hours before was replaced, and he was once again the near gentleman who had rescued her from the hands of drunken lust. His hair was combed back smoothly, the dark velvet pressed against his face. Without hesitation, Elizabeth took his hand and slipped easily from the horse.

"Where are we?" Her voice was hushed, feeling as though the secret would be shattered if she spoke more loudly.

"A place I like to come, often. It really is beautiful.."

They were surrounded by weeds, tall ones - with irritating insects that threatened to burrow into the folds of her skirt did she not move quickly enough. The ground beneath was uneven and rocky, and Elizabeth cast a wary gaze up at him. This was his secret place? He simply chuckled at the obvious confusion written across her lovely face, and (still grasping her hand) turned to lead her through the thrush. Finally, they reached the embankment. They were near the pond, the very same one they had passed in the days before as he had ushered Elizabeth and William about in the cab. This was a portion of it that she had never seen, though. The waters disappeared into what seemed swampland, and was then swallowed up by trees.

Just beyond those trees, however, the water continued into a sort of alcove. The latter part had been neglected and was not populated with all of the benches and entertainment as the rest. It had, however, a serene beauty. Flowers grew wildly and untamed, claiming whatever land they wished without the pruning touch of man. The moon was nearly full this night, and it seemed as though it had chosen to hang just above their secret encampment - it's blue light reflected dreamily off of the still waters.

Elizabeth was breathless, her lips parted in gasp. As she looked over the sight before her, Nicholas watched her. Her nose was pert and cute, he mused, and the reflection in the depths of her gaze was compelling. This woman epitomized beauty in a way he would have never imagined possible.

"Oh, Nicholas.." she finally spoke, the sweet and languid melody of an angels song. Her fingers squeezed his. "It is marvelous."

She finally glanced up at him, and their eyes met. Each trying to read the other, curious. A shiver coursed the length of Elizabeth's spine, and she sighed a pleasant sort of sigh.

"You should have worn a cloak," Nicholas echoed her previous thought, as he shifted his own from his shoulders and placed it upon her.

"Thank you," she smiled, suddenly feeling nervous again. It was only then that she noticed the blanket he had spread out for them. He gestured for her to sit, and she did. He offered her a mug, gracefully settling a respectful distance away from her on the blanket.

"I don't care for alcohol much. Do you mind terribly?"

Elizabeth felt surprise. She had never known a man who did not enjoy spirits. "Of course not. I find it mostly distasteful as well. What will we drink, then?" She giggled, a girlish sound that made her seem young. Nicholas smiled at the expression.

"Chocolate. Well, sort of." He poured her a glass of the milky chocolate mixture, and settled back to watch her taste it. Her eyes widened.

"It is decadent! Where did you find this?"

"In the townships," he smiled. "Sometimes peasants have delicacies even before the rest of you."

His comment, though intended lightly, caused a sort of tension between them - as Elizabeth remembered the events of earlier, and his station.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She queried softly, sipping still at the drink.

"Tell you what?" Was his simply reply.

"That you.. Where you.. What you do. I mean, who you are."

Nicholas glanced away, towards the water. "Why does it matter, dear woman? You wanted me to put off discussion of music and poems, and instead fill your mind with thoughts of my horrid past? Instead of the beauty of a rose we should have discussed the life of a poor orphan, never knowing a mother or father. Despised by the world, sold into slavery. That is what you would choose to fill our time with? No, sweet Elizabeth - I would choose otherwise." He smiled sadly, but did not glance toward her.

Elizabeth shuddered, even beneath his cloak. "I am sorry," she murmured, reaching to place her hand upon his forearm. Her voice was heavy with compassion, pity.

"Do not pity me," he hissed through clenched teeth. It was abrasive and made Elizabeth recoil her hand. "I am a man, Elizabeth. You would demean me with such an emotion. Please." His last words softened, and he turned to look at her once more.

"What did you need, earlier? Why did you find me?"

Elizabeth had forgotten that she had a purpose for her visit. So thrilled at the idea of spending more time with him, the forbidden fruit, the reason behind it all had evaded her.

"Oh. Yes. I lied to my family, Nicholas, about what happened. I did not want it to turn into such a scandal. I have made it clear to William that should he ever do another thing out of line that I would tell in an instant. For now, I made up the details. I came to ask for your silence."

Nicholas felt, for a moment, dejected. Of course it had been related to the incident. Why would such a lady come in search of his mere company? He had been a fool to have hoped such a thing. He nodded simply.

"I have already spoken of it, Elizabeth, to my... Lord." The statement made him feel small in her presence, and he shifted uncomfortably. They lived in two different worlds.

Elizabeth seemed frightened. "I will seem a liar, then! Whatever shall I do?"

Nicholas patted the hand that she had returned to his arm. "I will speak with him, it will be fine."

The calm in his voice assured her, and Elizabeth fell into a comforted silence.

"I enjoy you, Nicholas. It makes no sense. Why are you so different?"

He could feel her fingers tremble as she touched him, and knew that she had spoken out of turn. He doubted the little dove perched beside of him had ever spoken so openly to a man before.

"How am I different, mon cher?" He was, admittedly, intrigued - a part of his soul elated at her interest.

"I'm not sure," she replied, glancing out over the waters again. This was awkward for her, and she was thinking aloud more than anything.

"I enjoy you as well, Elizabeth." Nicholas finally responded, after several moments of silence lapped betwixt them. Settling into a comfortable, silent togetherness - Nicholas idly stroked the knuckle of her thumb - which still rested upon his arm.

"Did you really lose both of your parents?" His companion queried.

"Yes. My mother died in childbirth, and apparently my father did not know or care enough to save me. I lived in an orphanage all of my life." There was little remorse in his words, they were quiet and numb. Elizabeth felt sorrowful for him. She watched his face in the moonlight, so handsome and appealing. She longed to touch it, to feel the strength beneath her fingertips. The bane of curiosity welled within her.

_Christine seemed terrified. "Did he wear a mask, Elizabeth?"_

"_Yes, Mother. I believe so.."_

"_You are **never** to see that man again, do you understand me?"_

What secrets did it hide? What would she find, if she could simply lift the soft material from his face? Would he hate her?

"Why do you wear the mask, Nicholas?"

Nicholas stiffened. He had known this would happen, but he had not imagined so soon. He had hoped to spend as many precious moments with her, before she would be frightened and run away.

"Do you really want to know me?" He plied, his gaze suddenly intense and heated as it met hers. Elizabeth felt her throat tighten, and licked nervously at her lips. She felt as though he could consume her, and she was not entirely sure she'd struggle.

"Yes," she choked out softly.

"Then you shall..."


	11. Unveiling

The intensity of the moment never wavered. Nicholas shifted, turning to fully face her. The simple gesture brought their bodies within closer proximity, and Elizabeth could feel his warmth. Suddenly, she longed to reach out and curl her fingers in his lapel. Instead, she buried them in the folds of her skirt, looking expectantly to his face. What would happen next? When he revealed himself, what would change?

Nicholas labored over the decision, lifting a single hand to idly caress the soft velvet which disguised him. It wasn't at all surprising that he was willing to expose himself to her, and rather quickly it would seem. The only time he had ever worn a mask was when he would drive one of the cabs. He found them cumbersome and rather itchy. Not of any less importance, he felt as though any kindness or affection he might be afforded _with _the mask would only be false and therefore not worthwhile.

Somehow, it seemed different. With this beautiful woman. He was riveted, inspired by her beauty - and the time they had shared would certainly qualify of the most gratifying moments in his life. He hesitated. Did he really want all of that to end? His eyes met hers again, searching. All he found was a vicious curiosity, pleading.

"You must promise not to scream."

Elizabeth nodded numbly.

With a single, deft motion Nicholas removed the mask. His deformity was revealed, and he lowered shame-filled eyes. Poised, he awaited her response.

In truth, Elizabeth was repulsed. A horrified expression greeted Nicholas, when he glanced up at her silence. Her stomach churned, and she turned quickly - the precious chocolate drink he had spent a great part of his meager savings on was upturned upon the grass. Nicholas lifted himself gracefully from his spot beside of her, moving to gather his things. It was as he had imagined. Life was a cruel mistress who found no joy other than tormenting his pitiful soul.

Elizabeth wretched until her stomach was empty, and even then felt light-headed.

"Nicholas," she pleaded weakly, longing to apologize.

"Come, Mademoiselle. I will escort you to your estate." His voice was low and lackluster, terribly different from the inspiring tone she was accustomed to.

"Please," she attempted once more - forcing herself to look upon his face again. Just below his eye, flesh and bone were viciously twisted and deformed. The flesh held pockets which seemed to have been burned out with fire or acid. It was discolored and rough. It affected only a portion of his nostril, and then curved out around the shape of his mouth - ending at his jawline. In truth, not as terrible as _another_. Her gaze lilted to the whole side of his face, so handsome. Appealing. She swallowed her fear.

Reaching for his hand, slender digits curled within his pleadingly. "Please, Nicholas. I am sorry. I was taken aback. Please sit, talk with me.."

Nicholas seemed to bear the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He did not sit. Instead, he crouched before her - and in a tone that was not unlike a parent lecturing a naughty child, he stated softly.

"Elizabeth, I do not want to play games. I may look like a beast, or death, or a demon, or any of the other array of names I've been given. I am, however, just a man. I am not an object to amuse you or entertain you. It is not my place to take your mind off of arranged marriages, a mother prone to fits of madness, or a drunken father."

Elizabeth gasped. How could he see into her life so clearly? Anger flashed in her eyes, but he silenced her - continuing.

"We all have our problems, sweet Elizabeth. But don't forget that I am a man."

Nicholas lifted his hand, claiming the length of her cheek in a feathering caress. Her skin was just as silken as he had imagined, and warm. His words faltered for a moment as he watched the trail his fingertips traced, and the blush that followed. The angry fire was extinguished in Elizabeth's eyes, and they fluttered closed. Her head canted ever so slightly in the direction of his touch - much like a pleased kitten. Her lips had parted to allow a content sigh it's birth, and if he wished - he could kiss her. He could taste those lips, feel her beneath him.

"And a gentleman," he added roughly, removing his hand from her as though she had burned him. "Come."

Elizabeth had little choice, for as quickly as he had spoken he had disappeared into the brush. She arose quickly and followed after. His pace was much larger than hers, and she struggled to keep up. Finally, they reached the clearing where he had left her horse. He was standing beside of it, reins in hand.

Elizabeth walked to him, perplexed. She had been courted by many men, and had even found a few interesting. She had not, however, met anyone quite like Nicholas. He infuriated and delighted her, taunted and pleased her. She longed to curse at him, and at the same moment ravage him with unladly-like kisses! The frustration shone in her face as she stepped dangerously close to him. Nicholas laughed lightly at her.

"Am I to understand, lady, that you find me agitating?" His voice was light and teasing.

"No. Not that," she replied simply, lifting her hand to the clasp of his cloak about her shoulders. She shrugged it off easily, and the moonlight was allowed to once more kiss the smooth column of her bared throat, and the expanse of exposed shoulders. The dress she had chosen wrapped possessively about her, exposing the upward swell of her bosom to his gaze. She was breath-taking. The cloak was offered to him.

Nicholas' control wavered when she returned his cloak. He groaned inwardly. This was proving increasingly difficult. Did she realize the power she held over him?

"Be safe." He murmured, offering his hand to help her onto her steed. She glanced at it, and instead stepped closer still. Lifting up to tip toe, she brushed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

"Elizabeth," his voice was softer, compelling. "Your virtue demands that you leave me, at once."

She felt the victor in their spar of words, for now she knew that he desired her. She smiled sincerely into his gaze.

"Please, my dark suitor, may I see you once more?"

"I will come to you," he promised, ushering her onto her horse.

"Soon," she pleaded, their last words as she rode off into the night.


	12. Memory Lane

"Wake up," a voice hissed, and Elizabeth stirred wearily. She had been unable to sleep when she finally returned to her bed, and it was nearly dawn before restless dreams had consumed her.

"Elizabeth!"

"Uhh... Mama? Please.." she pleaded, pulling the pillow atop her head.

Christine was in a vicious mood.

"Wake up, little wench! You shouldn't spend half the night in the streets of Paris if you value your sleep so highly."

Elizabeth sat up quickly, turning wide-eyed to her mother. She did not have to ask.

"Yes, I know.." Christine answered the silent question, sighing. Her anger softened a bit into a heavy sadness.

"Was it him, little Beth?"

Elizabeth wrapped her arms about her knees, curling up into as small a figure as she could manage. She nodded, propping her chin atop her knees.

"Why do you insist on disobeying me, child? What is so special about him?"

In an almost dreamy voice, Elizabeth replied. "Everything, Mother. The way he thinks, the way he views the common things. The way he speaks. His very voice. It's as though it gets lodged in my head and echoes and... I cannot stop thinking of him."

Christine stiffened. "His voice?"

Elizabeth affirmed the fears with a nod.

"Did you see him, all of him? Beneath the mask?"

Elizabeth shuddered a bit at the memory, nodding yet again.

"Tell me," her mother demanded.

"It was.. He was..." Elizabeth hesitated, feeling for a moment as though she were about to betray Nicholas with her words.

"He cannot help it, Mama."

Christine seemed restless, standing from the edge of the bed to pace it's length - wringing her hands nervously. "Tell me, child."

Elizabeth obeyed, her voice little more than a whisper. "Deformed, horrible. From birth, I assumed."

Christine looked as though she would swoon into a dead faint. Elizabeth was alarmed, and reached for her mother.

"What is it, Mama?"

Christine settled numbly on the edge of the bed again, and cast her sorrowful gaze toward her daughter.

"We need to talk, Elizabeth. Serious, adult things that even your father hasn't heard all of."

Elizabeth felt wary at her mother's words. She was sure something terrible and life-altering was about to fall from Christine's lips, and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear them. Teetering upon the brink of adulthood, Elizabeth reveled in the freedom of childhood. She was sure what was about to be said would send her comfortable world crashing down in a heap. She licked at full lips nervously, and nodded.

"It was a long time ago," Christine began softly, reaching for her daughter's hand. "A time we never speak of, and have not since you were born. When I was only a child, my father died. I came to live in Paris, in the Opera House. I was a chorus girl, a dancer, whatever was necessary. Auntie Meg? She was my best friend, and Antoinette became like my mother."

The solemnness in her mother's tone kept Elizabeth quiet, many curious questions curbed. Copper eyes stared intently.

"I was still lonely. Terribly lonely. I would even..." Christine shifted, already finding the recounting difficult. "Speak to my father, as though he were there. I missed him so terribly, little Beth. One day, a voice responded. A kind and gentle voice that sounded like the most beautiful noise from heaven. I believed he was an angel. The angel of music that my father had promised. He spoke to me often from then on, he gave me his music. He gave me my voice. He was my guide, my protector."

The story was so intriguing! Her mother had always seemed so reserved, and .. well.. boring. Elizabeth tried to squelch the delight she felt at the exciting story, adventure tinging the words.

"Something went terribly wrong. Your father... we met again, at the Opera House. He offended the angel, because he was courting me. My angel became fierce and jealous. He manipulated me, kidnaped me.." Christine hesitated, unsure of how many details to give her precious daughter, who's eyes were now as wide as coins.

"At any rate, he nearly killed your father and forced me to choose. If I chose him, he would let Rao- your father go free. If I chose my own freedom, he would kill your father. I chose him."

The weight of her words rocked Christine. She had _chosen_ him. Why had he made her leave? And why had she? A familiar torment surfaced, and Christine struggled to bury it once more. Bitterly, she continued.

"He released us, moved with compassion I suppose. I left, and married your father. I could not stop thinking of him, I was haunted by him. He was always there, singing songs in my head.."

Christine cleared her throat, and Elizabeth spoke, thinking the tale was finished.

"What has this to do with Nicholas, mama?"

"Patience, child. A few years passed, and I don't remember how it all began - but a beautiful gypsy woman came into our lives, and apparently his. They were lovers, and she became pregnant. He never knew, however. They..." Christine, yet again, hesitated. Could she reveal the horror of her own actions to her child? The sin in her own nature, the cruelty of her actions - would she impart them?

"They fought and separated. The woman died in childbirth and I suppose the child was spirited off to an orphanage."

Elizabeth felt heat flush her cheeks. This was quite the upsetting story, but the more morbid it seemed to get the more uncomfortable Elizabeth felt. How could such a sad tale relate to the stable-boy she felt affection for? "Mama, please.." she begged, spurring Christine onwards.

Christine sighed heavily, having hoped Elizabeth would make the connection on her own.

"His face, Elizabeth. My angel's face, the Phantom's face. It was deformed and hideous, just as you described. And his voice, sweet child? Pure and perfect, and it seemed to echo in my mind when he spoke..."

"No," Elizabeth struggled numbly against the realization that threatened to shatter her innocent bliss. "No, it cannot be! Oh, but what does this mean? He has a father? Who is he, Mama? He deserves to know! I must tell him!"

Elizabeth worked herself into a frenzy, now out of the bed and pacing it's side herself. Christine reached out with a calculated grasp and captured her daughter's wrist, wrenching her around so that they were face to face.

"No," she threatened cooly. "You will never speak to him again, Elizabeth. His father was a murderer and worse. He destroyed the entire Opera Populair and nearly destroyed me. If any of that blood runs in him, you should be terrified. You will not see him again, do you understand?"

The fire in Christine's eyes was fierce, and Elizabeth knew that the only thing she could do was acquiesce. And so she did, whimpering lightly at the rough grip her mother had on her.

"Yes, Mama. I understand."

Christine held her a moment longer, searching her eyes for dishonesty. Elizabeth struggled to remain calm, and then averted her gaze as soon as she thought it acceptable.

"Good," Christine said, replacing her tone with a warm and mothering one. "I love you, sweet girl, and only want what's best for you. Say, have you seen William since that dreadful accident? He hasn't called in a few days. Did you have words?"

"No, I simply think he miscalculated. Turns out I'm a dreadful bore," Elizabeth lied, surprised at how easy that was becoming.

"I see. Well, brunch will be served soon. You will join me."

With that, Christine swept out of the room with all the grace that had once commanded the heart of the Opera Ghost himself. Elizabeth fell into the bed, exhausted in mind and body.


	13. Stirrings

**A/N - Le whine, le pout. I don't own the POTO stuff. If I did, I guess I'd be rich. And then, I think, my stuff would be all published and you guys would be waiting in line for me to sign the book or something. As it stands, I do NOT own any of it. I am NOT rich, and instead of signing your books I am begging YOU to review for me! So now. There.**

**I read in someone else's A/N that you're not supposed to reply to reviews in here. Is that true? Hrmm.. Well, I'll sneak two more in :P**

**my-echo: It hardly seems fair that I update a zillion times a day (okay, small hyperbole) and you take forever! Okay, okay. Not forever, and sorry if I seem violent. I'm just kind of... fiending away, over here. So pretty, pretty please - more:P Oh. And about my brownie?**

**Angelic-Flutist: I intend to sneak over and see if and what you write soon, too! Thanks for the glowing reviews, I like all those pretty words you used. Mwaha! I don't want to give away the Erik/Nicholas/Christine/Elizabeth debacle yet - but I expect that there will only be one more chapter (AFTER this one) before we finally see our precious Phantom. **

_

* * *

_

_One Month Later_

"Time off! Whatever for?" the abrasive man before Nicholas bellowed, with mirth in his eyes.

Nicholas curled his fingers into fists. Life with his 'Master', as it were, had become increasingly difficult. Residing within Nicholas were two distinctly different people. The first and usually most prominent was more of a simpering child, beaten so frequently on the gales of life that he simply cowered and obeyed. Hidden beneath the angst, however, was the man that he found in books. In music, and in Elizabeth's eyes. It had been a month now, since he had seen her, and yet each day between he seemed to grow more assertive. More independent minded. More detestable to those who were accustomed to towering over him.

"Yes, Monsieur. Time off." Nicholas' tone was chilled and threatening, which gave Carwell a start.

"Listen to me boy," he hissed, sliding off his stool. He was shorter than Nicholas by half a foot at least, and plump. He wagged his finger in Nicholas' face menacingly. "I own you, and everything about you. I saved you from that rat infested slump you lived in. I've given you a place to stay, food, an honest job. Don't speak so ungratefully to me! I will give you time off when I see fit!"

Nicholas' vision was clouded with rage, and with the last bit of self-control he could find within him - he simply nodded vaguely, and turned to leave.

"And Nicholas?"

Nicholas hesitated, but did not turn around - fearing he may throttle the man if he did so.

"Take the time, damn you boy."

Elizabeth was curled lazily upon the settee, reading another novel she had fished from the shelves in her fathers study. The words ran together, and she hardly focused on the page. It gave her a good disguise, however, and kept all those passing by from constantly pausing to ask the same, tired questions she had been asked for over a month. What is on your mind, Elizabeth? What trouble's you so? Are you ill?

She was tired of the constant agitation. She simply wanted space, and time. To think. Or, perhaps, mourn. Mourn the loss of something that she never actually had. Tiring of the book, Elizabeth tossed it lightly upon the stand nearby and stood, strolling to the window. She stretched languidly, gazing out into the streets of Paris. Fall was in full-bloom, and the chilly air and rustling of multi-colored leaves was beautiful. Usually, it was her favorite season. She had little desire for it now, though.

How could she explain her desire for the attention and affections of a man she had seen so few times? It would hardly take a single hand to count them! Her affliction was two-fold, however. It was true that she desired his presence, his company. To hear him speak, and watch him smile. All that was of course true! She felt a burden for him now, however. She knew more about his past than he did, and felt strongly compelled to tell him! She had taken a coach toward his residence on many separate occasions, intending to do just that. At the last moment, however, she would hesitate, and simply return home. He had made it clear during their last encounter that he would find her again, not the other way around. Pride prevented Elizabeth from approaching him, and so she had simply shut herself up - scarcely eating and showing little interest in anything else since that time.

This entire day had been no different. Night was falling, and the servants in her home were preparing for their rest. Raoul had been strangely absent for over a week, undoubtedly on some business venture. Christine and Elizabeth had hardly spoken since that night when all the secrets had been revealed. Elizabeth felt isolated, even if it was at her own hand.

Jolted back to present by the approach of a horse down the lane, Elizabeth shook her head to clear her mind of it's cloudiness. She swept to the door hopefully, sorely disappointed when only a messenger appeared.

"Mademoiselle," he murmured breathlessly, extending his hand. "A delivery."

Protruding from the man's crude and pudgy hand was a rose. The petals were the purest of white, it's tips finely kissed with a deep crimson. A pretty bow was tied neatly about it's stem, in white satin. Elizabeth reached for the jewel.

"For whom, Monsieur?" A quizzical expression crossed her features.

"Elizabeth DeChagny," he muttered, seeming irritated at such a silly question. With that, the man bowed low and then swept away in a flourish. Elizabeth lifted the rose to her nose, inhaling deeply of it's intoxicating scent. It was only then that she noticed the tiny card attached to the ribbon. In scarlet ink, and sinfully elegant lettering, it read;

_Dearest Elizabeth,_

_Too many night's have passed. _

_I am beginning to fear that our time together _

_was only a dream. _

_Be it specter or woman, please..._

_Join me. Midnight, at the hidden marsh._

_-N_

Elizabeth felt excitement course through her veins, and nearly trembling with delight, she slammed the heavy door and began to ascend the stairs quickly. Suddenly remembering the prying eyes all about her, she hid the rose within the folds of her dress and adorned her face with a more somber expression. As slowly as she could manage, despite the joy within her, she bid those she passed a good night and slipped into her room. There was not much time to prepare!


	14. News

**A/N - Thanks for all the kind reviews! This is a shorter chapter, but I'm working on the next. :) Cheers!**

* * *

"Nicholas?"

Silence. The wind rustled in the thick underbrush, making an ominous moan that caused Elizabeth to shiver.

"Nicholas!" She whispered again, a bit more frantically. It was terrifying out here, alone. She wished, for a moment, that they could meet at a more public arena. Halfway between the slums of Paris and her own opulent mansion, kicking through high grass, she felt as though she may be mugged or worse at any moment. Where _was_ that blasted man? Still, only the sounds of night-life answered her plea and Elizabeth continued onward. It had been a month since she was at this place, but she had not forgotten the way. Suddenly, she heard the distinct crackle of branches to her left, and stilled - holding even her breath. _What was that?_ Fear crept into her thoughts, and she turned to run. Surely Nicholas would be waiting for her by the pond. The heavy layers of her skirt were cumbersome, and Elizabeth silently cursed herself for insisting on wearing such a formal gown into the woods. She had only intended to impress him. She could not hear if her pursuer still followed, only the mad thrashing sounds she was making through the field. Just as she would enter into the beautiful clearing, she cast a glance over her shoulder - and stumbled. She could hear the material of her dress rip as it snagged upon a misplaced stump, and braced herself for the impact.

It did not come. Instead, she fell into a pair of sturdy hands which quickly righted her. Breathing quickly, she turned her flush face upwards.

"Nicholas! Someone.. I mean.. something.. It was.."

Suddenly Elizabeth felt very silly. Surely it had only been an animal, and she had acted quite childish in her fear. A dull sheen of perspiration shimmered on the surface of her skin, her hair was slightly mussed, and her beautiful gown... ruined. This was not at all what she had in mind for their reunion. Nicholas glanced beyond her, towards the path she had just trod. When she insisted on stammering on, he placed a single finger to her lips to silence her. They stood like that for a moment, and when he was content that they were indeed alone, he released her. Elizabeth felt a pang of regret as he removed his hands from her flesh.

"You're nearly half an hour early, Elizabeth. Anxious?" Nicholas teased, a mirthful expression filling his eyes. "I would have met you at the road. Where is your horse?"

"I could not bring one, without being caught." Elizabeth replied with faltering voice. She struggled to calm her breathing, trembling from the adrenaline that still coursed through her.

Nicholas, who had turned from her and began to walk toward the water - halted mid-step. He turned toward her quickly, and she almost thought she seen anger in his eyes.

"You _walked?_" He asked in disbelief.

Elizabeth, suddenly feeling as though she needed to defend her actions, lifted her chin defiantly.

"Yes," she said, though she didn't sound nearly as brave and strong as she had intended. "I would not have been able to come if I had not," she added hastily.

The heat in Nicholas' gaze waned and became one of concern. He nodded mildly. Secretly, he thrilled that she considered it important enough to put herself at such danger.

"Where have you been?" Elizabeth suddenly found an outlet to her frustration. "It has been a month! Do you despise my company so? I thought you would.. I thought I would see you soon!" The petite brunette seemed to demand an answer as she stared levelly at him.

What could he respond? How could he tell her the thoughts that had tormented him? He had thought it all a dream for some time, and then when he could still remember the way she smelled - he had convinced himself it was a mistake. That she would have immediately regretted her actions. And if she had not, he did. Heartache and disaster seemed to shadow his life, and he would not bring it into hers. However, in the end, his desires had won out and he simply _had_ to hear the sweet way she said his voice just once more. Truly, that was the purpose of this visit. To find a way to explain it all to Elizabeth, to tell her goodbye.

"Walk with me?" Nicholas offered his hand to her, an inquisitive expression on his face. Elizabeth marveled at how handsome he seemed, in the darkness like this.

"Yes," she murmured, accepting his hand until she was completely free of the brush that tangled in her skirts. A quick glance down confirmed that a rather large tear had wrenched it's way all the way to her waist, exposing the layering beneath. She blushed, casting an apologetic glance toward him. Nicholas did not seem to notice, instead staring into her face.

"You look lovely," he assured her, his tone soft.

With that, the two began a silent walk along the edge of the water. Nicholas had not released her hand yet, and Elizabeth did not attempt to remove it. Instead, she sighed contently at the pressure his thumb placed upon her warm palm, lightly stroking in circular patterns.

"Nicholas," she interrupted, suddenly remembering the burden upon her heart. "I must talk with you."

Nicholas felt his breath catch in his throat. Would she save him the struggle within, and end their friendship herself? How he longed for that mercy, and yet felt overwhelming heartache at the thought of hearing those words upon her lips. He turned with dread in his gaze to face her.

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth felt such a strong compassion and sorrow for the man before her that her eyes moistened with the threat of tears.

"I have found out... I mean, I know... How do I say this? You told me about your parents, remember Nicholas? That you were an orphan?"

Nicholas wasn't sure he liked the way this was going. Curiosity moved him to nod.

Elizabeth struggled to find her voice, squeezing his fingers in a gesture of comfort. "I know who your parents were, Nicholas."

"Impossible!" He retorted quickly, in disbelief. "No one knows!"

"No," Elizabeth insisted. "Your mother, Nicholas.. She was a gypsy. She died in childbirth. She didn't abandon you, Nicholas, she never had a chance to love you."

Tears filled Nicholas' gaze now, and he cast his eyes quickly from her. The whole earth seemed to shift beneath his feet, and so he dropped casually to the ground - staring out in the direction of the lake. He hardly felt when Elizabeth placed her hand upon his shoulder.

"A gypsy?" He breathed, more to himself than Elizabeth. All of his life he had tried to find out about his past, to draw answers where there weren't any. He had closed this part of it, finding it easier to ignore the empty questions. Now, the pain resurfaced as Elizabeth spoke.

"And, your father..." she began, almost fearful to tell him.

Nicholas allowed his head to hang, waiting for the final blow. His father.. A drunkard? Had he raped his mother? An adulterer, perhaps - who could not allow his blunder to be made known?

"Have you ever heard the stories, Nicholas, of the..Opera Ghost?"


	15. Hush, Now

**A/N - Sorry for the delay. I had to write this chapter five times before I was satisfied with it. Thanks for the great reviews :) And AngelicFlutist - I promise to give Erik all the pomp and fanfare he deserves! **

**Also, one more side note. A bit of the history might seem different to you guys. I've actually got a nearly completed fanfic that covers from 2 years after the fire until the beginning of this one, and that's where I get Nicholas' history. Ie; Erik meets a gypsy girl and so on. I don't want to give too much away because after I finish this one, I'll finish that one and post it as a prequel. Just wanted to say.. trust me :)**

**Merry Christmas!**

* * *

"Yes, of course. What child hasn't?" Nicholas felt a familiar throb beginning to pulse within his mind. How he hated to think of these things!

"He is your father." Elizabeth spoke softly, as though gentleness in her tone could cushion him for whatever sordid emotion this news might bring him. It only served, however, to make it seem all the more unbelievable.

Nicholas laughed aloud, a strained sort of scoffing sound. "Ridiculous! How could a ghost have a child?" Inwardly, however, the truth felt strangely familiar. Could that explain his despicable face?

Elizabeth was a bit taken aback. "He was no ghost at all, Nicholas - but a man! A man with a.. deformity. My mother knew him! She knew your mother, and that all of this is true.."

Tears again burned in Nicholas' gaze, but he turned away from her. All of his life he had sought the solution to this puzzle, and now that it was offered to him with an angel as it's herald, he wished he had never known. He _was_ a monster, then - and if not on his own, then through his monstrous father. What a curse! Anger welled within him, and he turned to lash out against a tall tree. His knuckles bloodied as they assaulted the bark several times. Finally, he slumped down against the tree - weeping silently.

Elizabeth stepped toward him, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the presence of his rage. It seemed a terribly raw and personal moment that she wished she were not there at all. Realizing, however, that Nicholas had no other soul in the entire world to comfort him - she plucked the courage from within her and attempted to do just that. A small hand fell against his back, and the petite girl crouched beside him.

"Get away from me," Nicholas sputtered weakly. "I am a beast, and if I was not sure before - then I certainly am now."

The Opera Ghost itself was a legend now, used to frighten all Parisian children into obedience. Tales of him would be told late at night in the darkness, of his glowing eyes and rotten flesh. Ridiculous stigma had been attached, even the idea of cannibalism. To Nicholas, no horror could have been greater.

Elizabeth ignored his plea, and reached to wipe away the tears that fell against his cheek. So quickly that she had scarcely seen him move, Nicholas snatched her hand and stood - propelling her away. Unintentionally, this sent her sprawling into the grass.

"I said, **get away!"**

Nicholas, in a fury of pain and anger, disappeared into the woods. Elizabeth stared after him, her delicate emotions unbalanced as well. Oh, she should not have told him!

"Nicholas, please!" She called, her sweet voice penetrating the unearthly silence like the ringing of a bell. She waited to no avail. He did not respond. She found her footing again, and trudged after him. She had, after all, delivered this blow - she must see it through.

She found him sitting upon a log that was decaying, his head in his hands. All the strength and allure she had seen in him was gone. Left was a weak and hurting man, weeping into his hands. Elizabeth felt moved with compassion and pity, though she was convinced not to portray the latter. He had warned her of that before. She settled by his side yet again, reaching to encircle his broad shoulders with her slender arm.

"If it's any consolation," she murmured softly against the line of his jaw, "my mother loved your father, I think. She said, in not so many words at least, that he was not a monster at all. Sure, his face was a bit.. different. But he was a genius, Nicholas! An architect, magician, poet.. oh, and the music he wrote must have been heavenly."

Elizabeth left out quite a bit of the story that had been relayed to her. She had no intention of relaying Erik's murderous ways, or the threat upon her father.

Nicholas did seem to calm at her words, weakly grasping for her hand. He pressed her fingertips to his cheek, and sighed heavily.

"Can you imagine what it's like, dear Elizabeth? To live an entire lifetime with nothing but hatred and disgust directed toward you. No one has ever touched me as you do now. A kind word has never been spoken. And still yet, to struggle against that and convince yourself that you're of some worth? Can you begin to fathom? And suddenly, even my lineage is cursed. My father is a blessed ghost used to terrify all of Paris."

The tears had dried, and now an empty laugh followed his words. Elizabeth found no humor in them, and sensed the pain in his voice.

"It doesn't matter now, Nicholas. Why dwell on such horrid things when my hands do touch your face, and my voice does utter words of comfort? Would you miss the present and labor over the past? I have longed for you for weeks on end, would you ignore that?"

His eyes were glossy as he canted his head aside, finally meeting her gaze. She had desired to be with him so earnestly? The horrible emotion twisting within him was quelled by her words, and he managed a feeble smile. Brazenly, he kissed the tips of her fingers before releasing her hand.

"I never wish to speak of this again, sweet Elizabeth. I thank you that you felt it important enough to share, and in many ways it was. I have the answers now, and it is time that I move on from those."

"But, Nicholas ... he is .. he may be still alive!"

"I do not care. I do not wish to know, and I dare say he would care little to find out as well."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed in confusion. A lifetime without any sort of love, why would he now toss away the chance to know a father?

Nicholas could read her expression, and simply shook his head again.

"Please, Elizabeth. Let me find peace."

Elizabeth was, at least temporarily, placated.

"Yes, Nicholas. I understand."

"Wonderful," he smiled, attempting to regain his composure. "Let us enjoy the evening, then. Who knows how many are left before they marry you off."

Elizabeth scowled at him, but he quickly erased the expression by squatting quickly and splashing some of the cool water onto her already torn dress.

"Nicholas!" She cried in shock, and then ran after him - into the welcoming arms of a very long night.


	16. Dreamscape

**Merry Christmas everyone! Things should pick up again after the holidays and I'll be able to update about once a day, every couple of days at most. Except for the 30th, when I go to see the Phantom A G A I N! Woooooooo!**

**Oh, anyway - it's been two days echo? Taps toe**

* * *

Dampness was the first thing she noticed. It seemed so moist that every breath was like taking a drink of water, and even the clothes upon her body felt heavy - as though they were soaked with the moisture. The girl stirred, and found that the noise echoed dangerously off of the closed space. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and she realized that she was in some sort of tunnel. It seemed to run only in two distinct directions - up and down. A sense of discomfort and fear gripped her heart, though she could not explain why. She turned toward the path that led upwards and only half a minute's journey revealed that massive pieces of earth and stone from above had crumbled, caved in, and now blocked her path. The only way she could go was down.

Down she went, cautious step by cautious step. The tunnels seemed to go on forever, and the girl felt as though she would faint from exhaustion. Suddenly, however, in the far distance the bleak darkness gave birth to a point of light. Her heart raced at the thought of salvation from this dreary fate, and her steps quickened.

"Hello?" She called, lyrical voice tinged with uncertainty. "Hello!" Again, and only echoes returned her cry. The light grew brighter as she neared. "Please!"

Suddenly, her approach was halted. An oddly colored lake blocked her path, and as she cast an anxious gaze over the shore before her - she found that a gondola was lazily bobbing on the barely existent waves. Surely this was her only means of escape! Her exhausted form hurried to it, reaching to release it's tether. Suddenly, a horrifying truth shattered the hope in her mind and made her fingers stall in their task. She glanced again to the murky waters, and a single thought penetrated her mind.

_The siren._

The girl had never been told of the siren who swam in the waters, but it was a truth somehow embedded upon the tablet of her mind. She shuddered, instinctively knowing the fate that awaited those who came across the siren. A glance over her shoulder confirmed, however, that she had little choice. This was her only means of escape! Careful that her skirts did not disturb as much as a drop of the siren's precious water, she hauled herself into the boat and with little skill began to row. Toward the light.

Before long, the thick mist which had subdued her vision began to thin and wane. She could see an elaborate, almost decadent home revealed before her. It was silent, seemingly abandoned.

"Please," she whimpered again, an unexplainable fear causing a lump to form in her throat. If no one were here, how would she ever find her way out of this cursed place? The gondola bumped against the landing, and she stepped from it - clumsily sloshing the shallow waters. Her heart leaped, and she quickly scampered further up and further in.

A rich and melodic laughter taunted her fears. It seemed to be everywhere all at once, and yet right in her ear at the same moment. She could feel the amusement laced in the mocking sound, and her face flushed.

"Who's there?" She demanded, gaze cast about quickly. "Show yourself!"

"_It's a miracle, really, that she didn't get you. The siren, that is."_

The girl shuddered. The voice was playing upon her fears, trying to frighten her - and though her mind realized this truth, it was dangerously effective.

"Please," she called out, this figure of a woman reduced very much to a frightened girl. "I am lost. I will.. pay you... if you only help me find my way."

"_Why do you expect that I know the way?"_

Still the voice echoed, first seeming to come from just behind her - and then from the gondola itself. The girl was distraught, and simply slumped into the pile of material her dress provided. She began to weep. The voice seemed agitated.

"_Why do you come here, child, and weep for yourself? Why have you come!"_

"I did not intend to! " The girl scarcely looked up, instead burying her face deeper in the solace of her own hands. The voice spoke again, and it seemed it's tone had changed. Softened, even.

"Ah, sometimes our fate is not in our own hands." Suddenly, the voice did not seem so disembodied. It seemed tangible and dangerously close. The girl looked up, toward the gondola. Somehow, in it's once empty bow, there stood a man. Dark and richly dressed, with an air of elegance about him. Only a portion of his face was visible, but it was strangely beautiful. Wrinkles that creased the corner of his eye and lip were the only evidence that he was quite a bit older than she - perhaps older than her father even. Otherwise, his skin was smooth and pale - and his sharply blue eye had a dangerous glint to it. The girl felt instantly enamored and horrified. She started, scrambling back a few feet. The attractive man moved, stepping from the boat as well.

"Christine," he breathed, in a singsong voice that echoed about in her head - in the same fashion that Nicholas' always had, only more intense. It was dizzying.

"No," she managed meekly. "No!"

The man did not seem to hear her, his intense stare fixated on her. She trembled beneath it's weight, as he approached.

"Oh, Christine..."

"No!" Elizabeth screamed, her voice seeming to finally shake the man from his reverie. The softness that had filled his eyes vanished, and they were fierce and frightening.

"Who are you?" He demanded, grasping her wrist.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" Was the only thing she could manage through her fright and tears.

"Ahh. A child," he had murmured, smiling darkly. "A penance, perhaps, for her sins against me!"

His words made little sense in the chaos that was her mind. She struggled against his hand, attempting to free herself.

"Tell me, little Beth, can you sing?" A vicious sort of pleasure flashed across his face at the look of fright in her eyes. She shook her head frantically, and mouthed the word no.

"Well then, if you are to be mine, you must learn!" With that, he laughed aloud - an almost maniacal sound that caused Elizabeth to tremble. The beastly and beautiful man before her turned his head, and for the first time she could see the cool white that shielded a portion of him from her. A name churned within her mind, though her tongue struggled to give it breath. He began to hum, and a song was born in her mind. The voice that imparted it to her was sweet and familiar; her _Mother's!_

"You're... you're..." Elizabeth struggled against the melody threatening to consume her. "The.. Opera Ghost!"

Again he laughed, so rich a sound that she was tempted to join in - and so terrifying and deviant that she wanted to weep. The song continued, until her eyes felt heavy and she allowed them to close.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

"No!" Firm hands grasped her shoulders, shaking aggressively.

"Please child, wake up!" The voice was familiar, that of her mother. Elizabeth struggled toward the familiar sound, finally able to open her heavy lids enough to realize her location. She was safe within her own bed, though her body was drenched with the sweat of her nightmare.

"Oh, Mama..." she exhaled with relief, so delighted to see her familiar face that she had forgotten the strife between them.

Christine's countenance was one of worry. "Nightmares?"

"Yes," she replied weakly, pulling her covers tightly up over her shoulders. She felt so exhausted, and yet she was fearful to return to the world of dreams. "Will you sit with me until I sleep?"

Christine smiled at her only child, and nodded. She began to stroke the moist locks at her daughter's temple, and would have thought her already asleep if it were not for the soft melody that began to ensue from the trembling form.

Elizabeth, who had never hinted at musical ability, began to sing in a most appealing tone.

"_I remember there was mist.._

_Swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake._

_There were candles all around and on the lake there was a boat.._

_And in the boat there was a man..."_


	17. Engagements

1**A/N - Short one because I'm busier than I realized. Sorry.At any rate..**

**I do not own POTO or any of those characters. Also, I do not own any specific word in the english language. Apparently, I "stole" someone elses title. I tried to find the fic but couldn't, and then I was going to rename mine but I think it fit's too well. So at any rate, sorry if I had the same idea as someone else!**

**Please continue to review, it fuels my creativity :)**

**And echo - it's been more than two days. Weeping, mourning. Gnashing teeth!**

"I want to see it all, Nicholas! The whole earth! I mean, isn't the world so silly and turned upside down as it stands? Why should I, because my parent's are wealthy and I was born with a certain name, be destined to live the entirety of my life married to a man I do not love, pretending to be proper and civil."

An adorable flash of anger had tinted her voice, and Nicholas simply continued to stroke the soft locks that spill across his thighs. He was propped against a tree, and his angel was laying in the grass aside him - her head casually resting atop his thigh as she stared upwards at the stars and bemoaned her existence.

"He will be able to afford to take you anywhere you wish," he had spoken calmly, with obvious logic. This only seemed to perturb her worse.

"Foolishness. I don't know how I will marry a man who assaulted me so." The voice was softer, more fragile now.

"You should have told the truth," Nicholas gently chided.

"Perhaps," she had mused, and a silence fell between them. Elizabeth began to think of ways to escape the impending marriage her parent's had forced upon her. Only two weeks before her mother had swept into her room, with Raoul at her heels. She had been sputtering on and on about propriety and a proper match, ensuring her future and all sorts of nonsensical talk Elizabeth had little interest in. The discussion had ended with their proclamation that in three months time she would wed William DeGent. Elizabeth had wept, screamed, pleaded, and spent the better part of two days struggling against their will. When it seemed completely ineffective, she had turned to Nicholas instead - weeping in his arms and finding solace in his wry sense of humor.

Nicholas, meanwhile, had struggled against the desire to sweep her away. To carry her off in his arms and make her smile for the rest of his life. Reality was easier for his mind to grasp than his little dreamer's, however, and he realized that all he could offer her was poverty. She deserved far better. When she had first announced her impending marriage, he had burned with jealousy and hatred and longed to _kill_ William. He had controlled himself then, and still managed.

"Run away with me," he teased softly, stroking the line of her cheek. Somehow the lines of propriety had been crossed with the two of them, and they were surprisingly close. Physical contact was of little consequence, and they were as free as siblings - only more.. intimate.

"Do not jest with me, Nicholas, as you know I'd rather live my life in a barn with you than in all of his mansions!" Elizabeth laughed lightly, not knowing how the truth in her words stung and only strengthened his resolve.

"Sing the song," he prompted, hoping to change the subject.

"It makes me feel odd," she countered, sitting up. She cast a glance over her shoulder at him, and he could not help but smile at how pretty she was when her hair was disheveled. Her lower lip was pursed into a pout, and he reached to touch it. She grasped his hand, however, and brought it around her shoulders as she leaned into his chest. Without further conversation, she did begin to sing softly.

"_Think of me..."_

Her sweet voice reconstructed the entire aria acapella for him. She was pink with blush by the time he finished, and he laughed lightly - kissing her atop the head.

"Beautiful. Tell me again - your tutor comes to you only in your dreams? Those are magnificent lessons!" His tone was light, almost taunting. Elizabeth did not respond as he had hoped. Instead, she stiffened.

"Please, let us not speak of him. I should not have told you." Elizabeth suddenly seemed frightened, as though she feared the man who continually plagued her dreams were listening even now.

Nicholas consented, and their conversation drifted to the light topics which pleased them both. He treasured the angel in his arms, knowing all too soon she would be taken from him and belong to another.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I am beginning to rethink this entire thing. _You_ were given your choice, my love - why should we not give her one?"

"Because, Raoul, I made a wise choice." Christine shuddered at her own words. She had repeatedly regretted and wondered over the choice she had made. She had never mentioned to Raoul that she had tried on more than one occasion to recant that very decision! "Elizabeth is in love with a stable-boy. She will not make a wise decision. This one has to be made for her. William is a fine choice. Handsome, wealthy enough to keep her well and happy, polite. There is no better choice!"

Raoul was surprised by the callousness in his wife's words. In many ways, Elizabeth had softened Raoul in a way that she had not touched her mother's heart. Elizabeth was a duty, a job to be completed, and while he was sure Christine loved her daughter, she often lacked gentleness with her.

"But what of love!" He insisted, coming behind her as she furiously brushed at her curls. His arms encircled her waist, and he felt her stiffen initially - then relax.

"Love does not always matter," she had responded quietly. Her words left him feeling cold. Had a lifetime with him treated her so poorly? Was her soul so starved for love that she felt no compassion on her daughter, swept up in it's waves now? He released her, and walked towards the door.

"We will drive her away," he murmured to himself.

"At least we will have a choice in where she goes," Christine retorted. Again, Raoul was taken aback with the cruel sort of passion Christine obviously felt over this. He left without another word, leaving his wife to her brooding mood. She had strong opinions, to be sure, but he was the Vicomte DeChagny. He could made decisions regarding his daughter and her well being, and he would speak to her soon about it.


	18. Conditioning

Not again!

Elizabeth found herself in a familiar and dank cellar. Stone seemed to swallow her up, and no matter where she turned she found darkness. The only variance was the level of moisture, different on each opposing wall, and the angle at which the floor tipped severely. She did not bother going upwards. For weeks she had been having these dreams and in each one the pathway above was cut off - a massive amount of stone having crumbled to block her escape. Instead, she simply turned her gaze downwards, where she knew he would be waiting for her.

Dread and anticipation filled her, even as she began the trek toward his lair. The cold began to permeate her flesh, and in the odd state of mind she found herself in, she wondered whether she could bring a cloak with her into her dream if she donned it just before bed.

"Master?" her inquisitive, soft voice queried as she neared the gondola. In only her second dream of him and this place she had tried to escape and in her scuffle, fallen into the water. The beastly man had jumped in of course, and saved her - but for the brief moment she was submerged the terror of the siren had been thoroughly instilled in her. She had heard the high, terrible noise of it's song - breathing the putrid water in her attempts to scream. The ghost had forced the water from her lungs and breathed air into her once more. The thought of his lips against hers made her shudder more. He did not answer.

"I am frightened!" She pleaded in her most convincing tone. She had learned much about the moods and sensibilities of this creature in her nightly dreams, and had found this her only weapon against him. Fragility.

Without a sound, and quite suddenly, a bony hand gripped her arm just above the elbow. Her breath caught and she turned to regard her captor. She was met with the icy white of his mask.

"Must you startle me so?" She queried, as he ushered her into the gondola. He only seemed to smirk, looking past her as he easily moved their vessel through the waters.

"If it pleases me," he said finally, his voice low and stern. Elizabeth was silenced, drawing her lips together in a thin line.

"Do you cause me to dream of you? Please, Monsieur, free my mind from this curse." Elizabeth was imploring, pretty eyes wide with fright. Her words earned the weight of his fury. Her chin was caught roughly in his grasp before she could blink, and his horrible face hovered a mere inch from her own. Tears welled in her eyes, and even in her fear Elizabeth could not help but notice how attractive the exposed portion of his face was. Indeed, even his anger seemed to add to the appeal - as the muscles in his jaw flexed. His eyes burned with anger, and he opened his misshapen mouth to speak. The words did not come however, and the steel of his gaze softened a bit at sight of her tears. He released her roughly.

"Is that how I told you to address me, child?" His voice danced with hidden threat, and Elizabeth responded quickly - stammering.

"N-no.. Master!"

Her strange tutor and tormenter seemed pleased. The rest of the gondola ride was uneventful, Elizabeth trembling in the bow with fear while her assailant towered above, paying little mind to her.

"You are breathing to live, not to sing. They are entirely different." The voice was softer now, an enchanting tenor. The chords he spoke resounded in her soul, and Elizabeth found herself without fear - even as she hovered dangerously close to his beloved organ. He was seated at the bench, regarding her as a pupil. "Try again," he demanded.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. This was all rather frustrating! She had always found music fascinating. Her life was too steeped in it for that to be avoided. She had never, however, had any desire to _participate!_

"No," he commented calmly, as he stood. "Like this," and then the beast turned man demonstrated a proper breath. Elizabeth mimicked him poorly. With a frustrated shake of his head, he stepped down from the dais and circled about her. Elizabeth stiffened as he stepped behind her, his arms looping about her. One hand splayed widely upon her belly, and her gaze fell to the long fingers. His other hand traced the side of her throat. Elizabeth shivered and opened her mouth to complain, but his finger crooked beneath her chin - effectively closing her mouth and forcing her head upwards once more.

"From here," he murmured, his lips at her ear. Elizabeth felt flush, suddenly overwhelmed with his proximity. Warily, she took a shaky breath. "Once more," he spoke again, a pleasure in his tone that made Elizabeth want to hear it once more. Just as she relaxed within the odd sort of embrace and - heavens forbid! - almost enjoyed the moment (it was after all, only a dream!), he released her. The room suddenly felt more cool for his absence behind her.

"Come," he stated simply. "We're going above."

Lesson apparently ended, Elizabeth obeyed.

The streets of Paris at night seemed no different in her dream. Elizabeth found herself escorted upon the arm of the masked man in her dreams down the alley-ways. He commented idly to her several times about the architecture of certain buildings, though it seemed he cared little about her response to his thoughts. He seemed to have a certain destination in mind.

Before long, they stood before a massive fence and a beautiful home within. Elizabeth stared at it, idly wondering if it were warm inside. She was freezing. As suddenly as they had stopped, Elizabeth felt his absence. When she turned to look for him, all she could see in the bleak night was the swirl of his cloak.

"Wait!" She called, and then cursed her foolishness. He paused, and turned to her. Was he smiling. In beckon, he sang lightly.

"_I am your angel of music... Come to me angel of music.."_

Oh, what a sweet sound! It thrilled her spirit and Elizabeth began to follow him. Just as quickly though, another voice pulled at her consciousness.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth turned to see her mother at the gate. Only then did she realize that he had taken her to her own home.

"Mama?" She croaked in confusion. Looking between the two, she found that neither seemed to be able to see the other.

"_I am your angel of music, Come to me angel of music.."_

The words reverberated in her mind, and Elizabeth groaned at the choice presented to her. She began to follow after him once more, only when she neared him - he seemed to dissipate, and then disappear.

"Come in child, you'll catch a cold!" A warm cloak swallowed her shoulders, and Elizabeth blinked furiously to clear the confusion from her eyes. Was she still sleeping, or awake? She found herself, suddenly, not in the gown she had worn in her dream but in her night clothes - standing on the street in front of her home!

She allowed herself to be ushered into the house and tucked into her own bed once more. She lay awake until morning, fearful of what may happen if she dared to dream again.


	19. Crumbling Defenses

**A/N - Sorry for the delay. Attack of the real life! But I got to hang out with the Phantom on the 30th. What could be a better excuse for not updating?**

**I realized that in some of my previous chapters my dividers were missing - so if it seems like it jumps from one part to another quickly, sorry! I'll try to find time to fix it.**

**Oh, and Erik is a little dark - but we love him still, right?**

**And echo - All I have to say is "whine!"**

* * *

"She says she cannot remember once she wakes, but I wonder if she's simply afraid to tell us what lies in her dreams." Raoul's voice was hushed, even though they were downstairs in the parlor and Elizabeth couldn't possibly hear their conversation form where she lay resting in her bed.

The other man present was quite old, balding, and round in the middle. He nodded sagely, as though he understood perfectly. Raoul wasn't convinced.

"Is there any drink we could give her to calm her spirits?" A cool female voice inserted, and Raoul turned to find that his wife had entered as well. "Food, medicine, herbs, anything?"

"This is all related to this marriage, Christine, I am telling you! If it's going to drive our daughter insane, then it's not worth it!" Raoul's voice had risen, coming across more harshly than he intended.

Christine blanched, glancing toward the stranger overhearing their affairs. She cast a wary gaze toward Raoul and simply allowed the comment to pass. He may be upset enough to discuss all of their personal matters in the presence of the nosey doctor, but she was not.

The aforementioned doctor was simply watching all that transpired. His gaze shifted between the two individuals before him. Such an odd pairing, he mused to himself. When a silence ensued, he coughed lightly.

"Ah.. ehm.. chamomile is rather calming. Put a sachet of lavender under her pillow before she sleeps. A glass of warm milk may help..."

Raoul suddenly seemed frustrated with this meeting and waved a hand in dismissal toward the old doctor. "Thank you for your time, Monsieur.." he murmured, remembering his manners. The man nodded, donning his hat after murmuring niceties to Christine. He hurried out, and Raoul sighed - slumping heavily into a chair.

"It's off, Christine. I will not subject my daughter to this." His voice was quiet, but stern.

Instantly Christine's temper flared. "You are a coward and a fool then, Raoul! She is a child, a foolish and naive one at that. She cannot make a decision like this on her own, and in the years to come she will thank us!"

Raoul was accustomed to these outbursts. Twenty years of marriage had taught him much about the saucy lady across from him. On most occasions he simply ignored the yelling, choosing to let her cool down before broaching the subject again. This time, however, he had been pushed too far. He stood quickly, grasping Christine by the shoulders.

"You are the fool, Christine! You think you see the same mistakes of your youth in your daughter. She is her own person, a separate individual Christine. You cannot punish her for your sins! You chose me Christine - no matter how often you've regretted it." A cynical tone tinged his last words and he released her in disgust.

"I've let you make many decisions about her, Christine. You are her mother and God knows she loves you, but you're being irrational and I am not going to let you ruin her life because of a perceived sin that still haunts you to this day!"

The door slammed loudly behind him as he stormed out, and Christine scowled. If only Raoul knew...

* * *

"It's going to snow," Nicholas promised, lifting Elizabeth's hand to his lips in greeting. He placed a tender kiss there, and smiled upwards at her through his dark mask. Normally, his odd sort of greeting would have been eagerly accepted and the two would have been off - chattering about everything under the sun. Tonight, however, as he lifted his gaze to her face a pang of worry shot through Nicholas. Her beautiful face was pale, and dark rings circled her lovely eyes. The spark that would shine in them seemed absent, and her gaze was dull. Almost as though her mind were not there at all.

"Elizabeth?" He spoke through a sharp intake of breath.

The sweet angel perched atop the black stallion forced a smile, and allowed herself to slip down into his deft hands. He caught her easily and placed her on the ground, though he didn't release her. Instead, his fingers tangled within hers. His free hand lifted to brush a honeyed curl away from her eyes.

"What plagues you, my angel?"

"Nothing," she murmured, canting her head aside to earn a light caress of his fingers. She longed to lose herself in his arms, his words, his embrace. How infuriating and appealing this man before her was! She felt strongly for him and yet he evaded all talk of that, instead encouraging her to marry a boy who would have taken her against her will.

Nicholas heeded the silent plea for his touch, stroking her soft cheek. He leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to her forehead. She wasn't feverish.

"You're not convincing me," he murmured against her flesh, pulling away again. He tipped her chin upwards so that their eye's met. "Please, Elizabeth. Tell me."

"My dreams... they are becoming so much more.. real. Last night I dreamed he was taking me through the streets of Paris, and when I woke up.. I was outside. In my nightclothes, no less! I feel as though he can... control me. Like a puppet, and he only gets better at it." Elizabeth shuddered despite the warmth of her cloak, instinctively drawing closer to the protection Nicholas unknowingly offered.

Nicholas wrapped his arms about her then, in a comforting embrace. His mind was racing. What monster plagued her dreams? How could he contend with such a thing? How could he protect her?

"Why won't you tell me more about him, Elizabeth? You've only ever told me that he teaches you.. that he wants you to sing. And you've sang quite beautifully, but why so secretive? Why are you trying to protect a specter in your dreams?" Nicholas had lowered his tone in an attempt to calm her, convince her.

The tone of his voice had a different effect. It echoed about in Elizabeth's mind in that dizzying fashion and she groaned against the familiar sensation.

"I am not," she countered weakly, still clinging to him.

"Then why?" Nicholas demanded, more firmly.

"I am trying to protect you." The words were murmured so softly Nicholas had to strain to hear them, and then piece them together in his mind. Elizabeth recoiled as she realized she had actually muttered them aloud.

"Me? From what?" Nicholas queried, searching her gaze for an answer. Elizabeth stammered.

"Nothing. I wasn't thinking.. Please forgive me, Nicholas - I am quite tired and a bit strained as you can imagine.." The social charm had been turned on, and the very carriage of Elizabeth's delicate form had shifted. It was repuslively... arsitocratic.

"You're lying," he hissed, his tone not without affection - only quite stern.

"Nicholas, please leave it be!" Elizabeth turned from him, storming toward the road. Her escape was halted, however, when his strong arms looped about her waist. He captured her, and she was pinned with her back against his chest. The feeling was all too familiar, and Elizabeth struggled in an embrace she would have previously delighted in. "Stop it!" She squealed, smacking at his hands. Deftly, he caught them, pinning them to her sides. His voice was warm as he spoke against her throat.

"I will release you when you tell me, Elizabeth. I lo... care very deeply for you, and if this curse relates at all to me then I will have you tell me this instant! If you care for me at all, Elizabeth, you will tell me." A coil of terror had wound it's way into Nicholas' stomach. The darkness that tainted his entire life had touched hers, despite his attempts to keep it from her.

"It's your father!" Elizabeth yelled in defeat, managing to wrench herself from his grasp as it loosened in surprise.

"_What?_" He asked, dumbfounded. Was his sweet little Beth losing her mind?

"Your father, Nicholas. The Opera Ghost, whatever you choose to call him. In sleep he sings to me, in dreams he comes.. He calls to me. He brings me to him, in my sleep. He says that I will belong to him, to pay for my mother's sins. He's horrible, Nicholas! And yet.. Wonderful. Oh, his eyes - I wish you could see him. But no! You shouldn't. He's wicked and evil and brilliant and.."

Elizabeth was weeping now, and Nicholas barely managed to catch her as she slumped to the ground. His mind raced. How could he disbelieve something as dramatic as this? Elizabeth was as sane as anyone he had ever known, he could not betray her confidence now.

"Shh," he murmured into her hair, stroking her back. "Quiet, my love. I am here.." Nicholas spoke reassuring words to her until she quieted in his arms.

Elizabeth hiccuped, trembled, and squirmed until she had dozed off. Sleep had been hard to come by for Elizabeth, as she struggled against the dreams that promised to come. In the comfort of Nicholas' arms, she found her first peaceful rest since the dreams began.

Nicholas, meanwhile, began to plot the first encounter with his father. A confrontation, nonetheless.


	20. Lost

**A/N - I don't own any of the classic POTO characters.**

**This is a shorter chapter, but it's mostly a bridge to the next exciting thing. So enjoy it :). Also, I've been thinking of a few things I'd like to tell you.**

**First, I think my Erik is a bit more dark and perhaps 'cruel' than some others. He's not a very fluffy guy. First of all, if you read Leroux (I can't afford Kay) then you'll see that Christine really was the first and only 'bright spot' in his life, apart from music of course. And even then, that didn't end very nicely now did it? Also, in my personal history of Erik post-Christine (aka, my other fic which I will eventually post) he has a horrible experience with the second woman in his life. Nicholas' mother. So at any rate, he's been all alone for at least 15 years with nothing to do but brood on the past. If he seems a little harsh to Elizabeth, or even Christine at first, give him time. He'll warm up. **

**I forget the last thing. I'll remember later.**

**Please review, it makes a world of difference :)**

* * *

Nicholas rubbed his eyes. It was nearly two hours after their scheduled meeting time, and Elizabeth had not arrived. She had never missed one of their rendezvous, even if she had been a little late. _Never this late,_ his mind chided. He stood from the cold earth and stretched languidly. Perhaps she had been prevented from coming, it had been getting increasingly difficult to sneak away. _Perhaps she's busy with him,_ the thoughts again taunted. His fingers curled into a fist and he growled against the torment of his own mind. He roughly pushed his way through the brush, toward his horse. He would go home, and sleep. She would meet him tomorrow, and then he could ask her what had happened.

* * *

"She's gone!"

Raoul groaned, trying to pull the pillow over his head to stifle the voice of his wife.

"Raoul, wake up!" She insisted. Finally, the sort of panic in her voice roused him. He turned to his side, blinking wearily up at her.

"Who, Christine? What? Can this not wait until morning?"

Christine was in a frenzy. She seemed overcome with both fury and fear all at once.

"She's gone with that insolent boy I am sure! We must find her, Raoul. She'll become with child and then be unfit for a marriage to DeGent. She'll be unfit for any marriage!"

"Christine, calm down .." Raoul began, in a soothing tone. Christine continued to rail.

"**Christine!"** Raoul snapped, bringing his hand into smarting contact with her jaw. She immediately went quiet, and looked up at him with tears in her eyes. Finally, the girl he had fallen in love with had resurfaced. Only for a moment, however, and the eyes glazed over with the disgust she obviously felt.

"Elizabeth is gone?" Raoul surmised, as he brought himself to a full standing position.

"Yes," Christine muttered cooly.

"Then we will find her." Raoul pressed a kiss to the forehead of his wife, and then stepped about her - hurriedly dressing.

"You wait here," he instructed calmly. "In case she returns."

Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Raoul silenced her with a glance. She held her tongue, and began to plan her own search.

* * *

The road which led Nicholas toward his humble lodging wound it's way, inevitably, past the DeChagny estate. On any other night it would have been dormant and dark. Tonight as he trotted towards it, many of the rooms were alight and people scurried about - even in the gardens. They all seemed to be calling out for someone, but who could they lose in their own estate?

Nicholas slowed his horse near the gate, just as a servant pulled the heavy iron wings open.

"Pardon, Monsieur.." Nicholas spoke, attempting to sound as formal as he could manage. "Is something amiss with the Comte?"

"Oh no, Monsieur." The servant was obviously nervous, having undoubtedly been roused from his sleep and sent on this mission. "The Comte's daughter is missing again. Sleepwalking I presume, but they never ask our opinions." The man grumbled, and went to continue about his work.

Fear gripped at Nicholas. "His.. Daughter? Elizabeth?"

Now the servant seemed annoyed. "Yes, Monsieur. He only has one daughter." With that, the stout man disappeared into the estate once more and finally Nicholas could make out the name they were calling. _Elizabeth._

If she was not with him, then where could she be? William, perhaps? No, the man was not that foolish. He had already assaulted the lady once, and she now held him within her power. He would not be so foolish to attempt it again, especially since she would belong to him in two short months.

Nicholas turned his horse to leave, but heard a familiar voice behind him.

"You! Wait!" He turned to find Elizabeth's mother racing after him.

"Where is she?" A curt and vicious tone demanded, making Nicholas recoil. He was on horseback and could surely escape this interrogation.

"She is not with me, Madame.." He assured her, in his most sincere tone. She was not convinced.

"Then what have you done with her!" Christine was now wagging her finger in his direction, and in any other situation the scene would have been comical.

"I assure you," he began again, but the tears that began to fall along Christine's cheeks caused his words to falter. She may pretend to be so strong and angry, but it was obvious that beneath it all she did love Elizabeth, and must be worried half to death. Nicholas lowered his voice to little more than a whisper.

"She did not meet me, Madame, at the appointed time. She ..." Should he be divulging this information? He hesitated, but finally chose to continue. "She always comes. I am concerned as well. I promise you that, should I find her, I will bring her home at once."

Christine did not seem comforted by his words, but he turned anyway and fled down the darkened road. He had an idea of where to start his search.

Little did he know, however, that Christine was determined to accompany him on such a venture - and had quickly called a servant to fetch her own horse. Within moments she had caught up with him, though she trailed from a distance. He did not even detect her presence as he wound his way toward the ruins of the old and abandoned opera house.


	21. Welcoming

The same familiar darkness roused Elizabeth. She groaned audibly. This same dream was becoming quite tiresome. Only this time, it seemed so much more real. The cold was more piercing, and she found herself shuddering against it. They were getting more realistic each time she slept, and more fearful. She wound her way expertly through the tunnels until she hovered by the edge of the lake.

"Master," she called softly, in a tired voice. He knew she would not cross the lake without him. She believed that it was his fault, somehow, that she dreamed of him so continually. Usually she would have had to call him many times. This time, however, a voice responded quickly.

"_Who is there?"_ The tone sounded mocking, and seemed to be coming from behind her. Elizabeth glanced back.

"Elizabeth," she replied quietly, arms crossing over her chest that she might rub them more effectively. "Please Master, it's simply freezing!"

A form suddenly loomed before her, settled easily within the gondola as if it had always been there. His hand snapped out so quickly she could not even recoil, and a single curl was captured in his bony fingers.

"_You are real,"_ he hissed. He felt more tangible than he ever had, and Elizabeth suddenly lifted her own hand to touch his own. She had always been able to touch him, yes, but somehow he felt different tonight. His hand was like ice, but the skin was oddly soft. He pulled away from her touch quickly, scowling. He nodded toward the gondola, and she stepped inside obediently. Their ritual had begun again, though both felt somewhat bewildered. Neither was quite certain whether they were sleeping still.

"Please, can I know your name?"

The sprite in his boat queried in such a sweet tone Erik nearly answered her. He bit his reply off quickly, however, and muttered gravely.

"Corpses have no need for names."

"You breathe and speak as a living man, Master." Elizabeth had found some sort of courage it seemed, and he cast a bemused expression her way. Why on earth did she insist on calling him that? It had never been a part of _his_ dreams of her. He did not, however, find it displeasing. It had a rather nice ring to it.

"You seem to have a name for me already, girl." His response was low and seemed to taunt her yet again. Oh the games that he could play with her mind!

Elizabeth changed the subject, as they arrived upon the opposite bank in his lair. "May I have a cloak, please?"

Erik was surprised by the request. He had been left to his own devices for over a decade, scarcely contacting the human race in any way. Weeks before he had started having odd dreams about a young girl, and suddenly she had appeared on his banks - seeming to know him entirely too well. While his mind struggled to piece together the fragments of this puzzle, he heeded her humble request and fetched a cloak. It was too large and quite heavy, as he draped it over her smooth shoulders. He could smell her, a scent of roses and simple femininity. It was enthralling, and he nearly leaned to inhale deeply of it. Realizing himself, he spoke brusqely.

"Why have you come?"

"Are we back to that," Elizabeth countered, accepting the gift of his cloak by wrapping it around her more closely. Their relationship, Erik mused, was obviously one of a precarious balance in her perception. One moment she trembled in fear, and another spoke out brazenly. What an interesting creature!

"What shall we learn tonight?" Elizabeth murmured, hoping to distract this beastly man from the look of interest he had cast toward her.

"Learn?" The ghost was strangely confused, and it made him feel oddly out of control. He reigned the feeling in, deciding that he should perhaps.._fake it._ "Oh, yes. What was our last lesson?"

The girl before him was all but a child compared to his years, and she blushed furiously at his question. Erik found it appealing. He stepped about her and found his way to the dais, where he settled at his bench.

"You taught me to breathe," she muttered breathlessly, this time gaping openly at him.

It was the first time he had allowed himself to come into full view, and Elizabeth felt overwhelmed with the sight of him. His beauty was timeless. A mask shielded a portion of his face from her, but it only added to the dark allure that his strong and handsome features afforded. He was obviously quite a bit older than her, but it only made him seem more mature. Appealing. Elizabeth unwittingly stepped forward. Had he always been so beautiful?

Erik was uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"You're staring," he snapped. Elizabeth tensed.

"This is a strange dream, Master." The words escaped unbidden. If it was indeed a dream, what harm could befall her? The child reached for the murderer, touching his lapel. He stiffened, but did not recoil.

"I assure you, it is not a dream." His voice was so close, so real. Just as heavenly as she recalled.

"Oh, but it must be. It always is. I beg of you, please allow me to wake! I do not understand my thoughts." Her tiny fingers were now curled within his clothing, and Erik had to wonder what her ambition was. He reached to curl his own death-like grasp about her own - winning his freedom with a simple tug. A dark smile graced his malformed lips.

"What thoughts are those, little pet?" He played upon the fear she obviously displayed, unwittingly becoming the very creature in her dreams. Had fate prepared them both for this encounter? His grasp tightened at her hesitance, until pain shot through her fingers.

"I.. Please, Master. You're hurting me." Elizabeth's eyes were wide now. The pain was real. She had never felt pain in her dream, not like this! Was this all real? How had she come here? He had found her. He had captured her! But how? How!

The realization was obvious in her eyes, and Erik read it easily. He laughed, a frightening sound to Elizabeth.

"Yes, I am real. You are here." He jerked smoothly upon her arms, and she stumbled. Unable to control her trajectory, she fell into his lap. He parted his legs just before she made contact, allowing her to hit her knees. There she knelt betwixt his own knees, with her hands still captured in his vicious grasp. She looked up, tears filling her eyes. He released her hands and chose instead to capture her hair in his brutal claim. He stroked the locks awkwardly, clumsily. After a moment of this, he leaned forward to inhale deeply of the sweet scent he had denied himself moments before. If fate would deliver such a prize to his very doorstep, who was he to deny it? No, he would deny himself nothing. His entire lifetime he had been denied. Not now, not with this one.

His lips were close to her ear. Elizabeth could hear him breathing. "**_You are mine."_**

His voice bounced about in her mind, playing again and again. It made Elizabeth's head spin.

"No," she muttered weakly, forcing her eyes closed at the sight of him. Though he did not speak again, his voice countered the arguments within her mind. Always repeating.

"**_You are mine."_**

Elizabeth collapsed with a whimper of defeat.


	22. Sweet Seduction

**A/N - My beloved reviewers. :) Thanks for all of your input. I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I am. Also, I'm glad you've not been frightened off by Erik's lack of conscience so far. While I promise that he won't always be sucha beast, I cannot say I'm not enjoying it. Mwaha.**

**At any rate, here's s'more for your reading pleasure. Review review!**

* * *

A thick and velvet darkness seemed to swallow the remains of the Opera Populaire. The streets around it were swathed in light and life continued easily there, but a dark and foreboding circle seemed to surround what was once an opulent stage for the finest of arts. Even Nicholas, furious in that head-strong way that young love often inspired, felt dwarfed by the mere sight of it. He rounded the circumference easily on his horse, trying to discern the easiest path inwards. Finally deciding that the best method would be trial and error, he slipped off of his mount and tethered it nearby. He began up the massive steps toward the main entrance. A voice halted his procession.

"You'll not find him that way."

It was a soft voice, feminine. All too familiar. Nicholas turned toward Elizabeth's mother.

"If you've come to prevent me, Madame, I insist that you leave now."

Christine smiled. It was an odd expression and one that he had not yet seen on her face. She looked quite young when she did, and very much like Elizabeth. Her eyes seemed saddened and fearful as she stared at him.

"You will not find him that way," she repeated, this time in a whisper. Stepping about the young man - she ascended the steps part-way and then diverted to one side. Nicholas hesitated but a moment, and then followed her.

They entered the massive hall from the side, and once his eyes adjusted to the nearly painful darkness Nicholas understood her cryptic words. At least partially. If he had come in by the main doors, the convenient way the stone had fallen would have routed him through the great rotunda and out another door. They were able to scale the dangerously damaged stairwell this way, and disappear into the bowels of the theater.

Christine seemed as comfortable in the darkness here as she would have the light. She easily navigated from room to room, until they stood in what Nicholas could not recognize as her former dressing room. She stepped to the mirror, and pursed her lips in thought. She had never sought him this way, and had no idea of how to trigger the mechanism. She began to feel about it clumsily. By chance, she managed to press in just the right place. The door slid open with little more than a groan. Christine cast a glance over her shoulder towards Nicholas, and then stepped into the dark passage.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes," she murmured softly. Nicholas consented with little argument, but he insisted on walking ahead of her. They began their descent, toward the world beneath their feet.

* * *

"Eat," the cruel voice insisted. Elizabeth pushed the plate away, pursing her lips willfully. He only laughed, and it made her feel foolish. She relented and grasped the plate, picking at the bread and cheese upon it.

The heavy cape provided no protection against it's owner, even as it perched atop Elizabeth's delicate frame. She was settled upon the divan, with her legs curled into her chest and his cloak draped around her. Her eyes were red with the tears she had shed, and the imprint of boney fingers bruised the tender insides of her wrists, from a scuffle they had gotten into in the hours before. How long had she been here already? Days? It seemed an eternity.

Erik paced idly, realizing it made the girl quite nervous when he did so. He was enjoying this so. When had his mind slipped to such depraved depths, that he enjoyed torturing a poor girl? Ah, well. He _did_ enjoy it so. And so he shall!

With no announcement, he took a seat directly behind Elizabeth, forcing her warm body against his cool and relentless form. He reached about to the clasp of his cloak. It was unfastened easily, and he removed it from one of her shoulders. There, he busied his hand in stroking the column of her smooth throat, and toying with those pretty curls.

"You have your mother's hair," he breathed against her. She stiffened noticeably. The beast sighed. He really did not want to hypnotize her, but if he must.. well then, he would.

"Relax," he goaded her, allowing his voice to dip into a sultry murmur. Against her will, Elizabeth shuddered. Erik could not help but smile at the effect it seemed to have on her. He would have to remember that. He continued to stroke the soft flesh, and bid her finish her meal. Hesitantly, she obeyed.

"What do you want?" Finally the girl spoke, though it was quite meekly. "When will you release me?" She could feel the laugh in his chest before she heard the maniacal strain.

"You, of course. And never. You see," he spoke in a tone that was condescending. As though she were a tiny child. "Your mother did a lot of very bad things to me, sweet little Beth. You will pay for her sins."

Elizabeth wept again, and freely. Her captor removed the cloak entirely, which caused her small body to shake all the more with sobs. He pulled her closer, until she was pressed flush against him. Then he draped the luxurious fabric over her from the front, and rocked her soothingly. In that lurid voice that tempted her so, he began to sing. A soft lullaby.

Despite all of her reservations, Elizabeth was calmed by his sudden gentleness and of course, his voice. Unwittingly, she nestled into his arms a bit more and felt her lids go heavy. Within moments, she was asleep within his arms.

Erik was left to silence, watching the girl within his arms, feeling her breath expelled against his cheek. Oh, yes. He could get used to this.

* * *

"We're lost," Nicholas grumbled over his shoulder. "We've passed the same doorway at least a dozen times!"

Christine could not argue with his logic. Erik had obviously changed the tunnels extensively since she had been in them last. To keep unwanted intruders out, no doubt. Did that include her?

"There must be a catch," Christine murmured against the darkness that enveloped them both. Her fingers turned to the damp walls, prying into every nook and crevice. She pressed upon a stone that felt loose, and smiled in triumph when the creak of gears was heard.

Much to her astonishment, the perceived outcome did not follow. Instead, a heavy blade fashioned much like a guillotine fell betwixt her and Nicholas. Luckily, both had fallen aside just in time to avoid it's severing kiss. A roar filled their tiny cavern, and suddenly the sound of air rushing upwards preluded the disappearance of Nicholas. He had fallen through the floor, it seemed! The silver blade still blocked her pathway along the tunnel, and was sharp on both edges. It would be impossible to climb over.

"Hello!" She cried, having forgotten the boy's name. In the distance, a splash answered her - and then she heard the heavy groan of moving stone. The portal had closed and she was alone in the darkness, with only dread for what may now happen to the young man.

* * *

Elizabeth stirred. She was alone, or so it seemed. Instead of the divan, she was now resting quite comfortably in a bed that was fashioned into the shape of a swan. Oh, how lovely she would have thought it was in any other situation. Currently, however, she realized that she was indeed _waking._ This was not a dream, as desperately as she may wish it to be so. The poor girl sat up quickly, squinting through the dark drapery that surrounded her.

"Master?" Her voice was fluid and sweet, and sounded strange even to her. It was as though this entire cavern teemed with music's sweet blessing and it had bestowed that kiss upon her voice as well.

"Come," his dark voice answered her. Elizabeth trembled. Oh, how she longed to run to him when he used that tone! It was as though it wrapped around the essence of her mind and controlled her. Just like a puppet. She struggled against that desire, managing to calmly rise and step out of the chamber. He was seated at his organ, scratching busily at the paper with his quill. Elizabeth hesitated.

Erik lifted his head to glance at her. The obedience he would instill in her was progressing nicely, but she was still slow. A glowering expression caused her feet to move again, and he allowed himself the freedom to marvel at her youth. Her beauty, and sensuality. She did not look as much like her mother as he had first thought. There was quite a bit of de Chagny in her. The structure of her cheekbones were less rounded, more regal in appearance than Christine's. Altogether, she did not have that fragile look that Christine had always had. She seemed more malleable, more... touchable. Yes, she would be fine to touch. A sinister smile had curled upon his lips as she neared him. Her delectable flesh trembled, and it did not go unnoticed. He reached out to stroke the length of her arm, and she pulled away.

"Ah, there is a fight left in you yet." Again his tone seemed to mock her. Elizabeth found herself awed by the abilities he had with his voice. He could farce any emotion he wished, it seemed, without the need of expression. "Sit."

Elizabeth cast her gaze about quickly. She did not want to sit upon the frigid floor, but the only other option was.. his knee. To the surprise of both of them, she took the latter option and settled dangerously close to her captor.

"There are a few things I would tell you," Erik began, stroking her stocking covered knee. Elizabeth recoiled, and the action nearly caused her to fall backwards onto the unforgiving stone. A deft arm quickly caught her about the waist, and her own arms lifted in self-preservation to wrap about his neck. He was temptingly close now, and Elizabeth could feel the stiffness in his limbs relax. He quickly turned the embrace into a sort of caress, and when she did not respond as he desired - his lips parted in song.

"**_Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses... Slowly, gently night unfurls it's splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender..."_**

Elizabeth struggled against the power his voice commanded over her, shaking her head against him even as her eyes fell closed. His fingertips ventured up over the curvature of her thigh, lightly tracing the shape of her hip and flat stomach. Her breath stole inwards. His exploration ventured higher until his fingers again played at her throat. Oh, how beautiful this creature was! Erik dipped his head, imbibing of the scent of her. Her warmth was calming, appealing - and he pressed the slight form on his lap closer. Elizabeth sighed, a pleasured sound, and allowed her chin to tip back. The fullness of her throat was exposed to his breath, even as he sang against her.

"**_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams! Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before! Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar. And you'll live, as you've never lived before."_**

In a distant way, Elizabeth realized his voice held the power to seduce her. Her mind beat wildly against his sway, and yet she trembled with delight atop his thighs. He held her closely, managing to touch her, caress her, while crossing precious few boundaries. He paused in his song, and she felt his lips upon her throat. Unbidden and to her horror, a soft moan escaped her. She felt him chuckle lightly against her, as if amused by her response.

"_Your body betrays you,"_ he seemed to speak, yet his lips did not move. Within her mind he taunted her, and she felt fury through the pleasure.

As suddenly as their little interlude had started, it ceased when Erik lifted his head suddenly. He seemed to be staring through the massive iron bars upon the lake. His eyes narrowed then, and he stood abruptly, very nearly throwing Elizabeth to the ground. She managed to catch herself awkwardly and found herself standing as well. She was flushed, her breathing was labored - and suddenly she felt very embarrassed.

"What is it?" She rasped, following his gaze but seeing nothing but the idle dance of the waters.

"Stay here," he commanded. The desirous play of his voice was gone, and the cruel and demanding Master had returned. Elizabeth shrank away, and retreated to the protection of the swan bed.

Erik, meanwhile, had disappeared before she could look towards him once more.


	23. Splish Splash

**A/N.**

**Thank you so much for the reviews. Our little friends really are working themselves into quite a tizzy. I'm enjoying it immensely. As may be apparent by my ridiculously frequent updates!**

**At any rate, this is just a little teaser. I'm working on the next 'big' chapter as I write this, but it may be as late as.. gasp.. tomorrow! Unfortunately real life is being terribly cruel and not allowing me all the time I'd like to wallow in poor Erik's misery, or feel a jealous sort of pity for Elizabeth. Hrm!**

**I would gladly beat everything in real life down, however, for another installment of the OW, echo. Pleeeeeeeeeeeease.**

**Oh, and if you guys haven't read it, please read Opera Wench by my-echo. It's delicious.**

**Off to the story!**

* * *

"Where is she?" A young male voice interrupted the conversation Raoul was currently having, and he glanced up toward the intrusion. William DeGent stood in his parlor, looking quite harried.

"We will find her," he attempted to calm the young man. William nodded mildly and turned to pour himself a drink while Raoul finished speaking with Captain McHargue..

"I have half of my men out searching for her, Vicomte. If she is within Paris, they will find her."

Raoul tangled his hand in his hair, brushing the errant locks from his face in a nervous gesture. The Captain continued.

"If you'll pardon my asking, Monsieur.." He paused to cast a wary glance toward William. "Do you think she had any reason to run away? Anything she might have been escaping?"

William seemed to hear this, and quickly shot a hot glare toward the officer. Raoul sighed heavily.

"Elizabeth would not run from her troubles, Captain, of that I am certain. Where ever she is, she needs our help. Speaking of which, has anyone seen my wife?"

* * *

Frigid was not a cruel enough word to describe the condition of the waters into which Nicholas was cast. Upon first entering it, he felt as though a thousand daggers had stabbed into his flesh - leaving him immobile. After a moment, the sharp and searing pain turned into a horrifying numbness. Nicholas found that he could once again move his limbs, and he began to struggle against the water - trying to regain his bearing.

Points of light shone at him from all directions, making it impossible to tell which way was up. He followed the bleak beams until he felt his lungs would burst with thirst for air. His mind began to get hazy, and random images flashed before him.

He seen the children, mocking him. Throwing stones at him, while the adults about simply laughed. Flashes of horses, their magnificent beauty and freedom. Dark brown curls, ruby lips. The sweet smile that curled upon them. Elizabeth. Oh God, he was dying!

Nicholas submitted to the images in his mind, his body going limp in the unforgiving waters. He began to sink, and he scarcely felt it when his body bumped against the bottom of this trap. The last thing his conscious mind grasped was the iron-like grip that fastened about his ankle, and the sensation of being pulled quite suddenly through the waters.

* * *

Christine fought her way back through the passages they had come through. It took her much longer than the original trip, and if she had not known better she would have sworn the tunnels had shifted even since they entered. She had forgotten what a criminal mastermind Erik was.

Finally she burst from the ruins into the fresh night air with a gasp. It was like being freed from a coffin, she mused, as she drank in the cool night air. A pause upon the steps to gather her wits and strength, and then she was off towards the Rue Scribe entrance. Why she had not thought of it before, she could not say, but now she knew it was her only hope. Whether it would be a _safe_ entrance or not could easily be debated.

* * *

Erik found himself in a foul mood. On any other day, someone from the world above falling into one of his traps would have been a welcome diversion. A break in the mundane existence he had been condemned to. Now, however, he found that there was plenty to amuse himself with in his domain and this intrusion was simply that. An intrusion.

The icy waters were of little consequence to him. His body had long since become accustomed to it's ruthless bite. The water was murky and dark, but he knew every corner of this lake with the same familiarity that he knew his arm, or leg. It was quite simple really, to find the body heavy with defeat as it sank into the dark abyss.

A man, it seemed. Young, though. Erik paid little more attention to it as he grasped the ankle and swam back towards the surface. Eventhis self-proclaimed corpse needed to breathe.

* * *

Elizabeth shuffled about nervously. Half of her felt safer within the bedchamber, as though he would not approach her within it's confines. The other half, currently screaming the loudest, was an insatiable curiosity that demanded she return to the edge of the lake and see what had called her guard away. She chided herself, even as she obeyed the latter thought.

The cavern seemed deathly quiet without his presence. He made precious few sounds when in it to be sure, but his very presence existed like something akin to music. The entire room felt alive with a sort of dread when he was there. Elizabeth oddly longed for him at that moment. Alone, she felt buried alive.

"Master!" She called out, hoping the term would placate him and return him to her. In the distance, she heard a heavy sloshing.


	24. A Forever Oath

**A/N - You can thank the lovely my-echo for this. Her foolishly quick reviews, free brownies, and Erik kisses prompted me to post this super quick. **

**Tell me what you all think!**

* * *

Erik heard his little captive cry out for him, and for a moment a pang of alarm shot through him. What could threaten her so that she would call out for his return? He quickly pushed the feeling aside. His lair was impenetrable, as the poor fellow he now dragged through the water had found out all too quickly. A pity, really, Erik could have made such a sport out of killing him.

He rounded the corner that hid his domain from vision, and could see Elizabeth standing at the very edge of the waters - searching for him with her gaze. It was a delicious expression, really. Almost like.._hope. _It was shattered quickly, however, when she realized the task that had called him away so quickly. Horror crossed her pretty features, and her hand lifted to her gaping mouth.

"Oh, _no!"_ She cried, and Erik almost felt guilty. Almost. Instead, he laughed lightly at her reaction - dropping the body near her feet. She should fear him, perhaps this would be an easy way to accomplish that. Her wide eyes scanned his face, as if looking for any remorse. When she found none, they dropped to the body, which he had carelessly nudged onto it's back.

"A gift, my love." He taunted in a frightening tone. Then an odd thing happened. The look of piteous horror that had claimed her face crumbled. It was replaced with.. What was that? Was it... recognition?

"Nicholas!" The scream that tore through her was shrill and made Erik cringe at it's discord.

Elizabeth felt the world spin about her. She dropped to her knees and touched the freezing face of her boyish love. His lips were blue, and it was obvious he wasn't breathing at all. This monster had managed to pluck him from her mind and kill him!

"You beast!" She wailed at Erik, standing from the body to charge at him. Her small fists delivered countless blows to his chest, and would have assaulted his face as well had he not captured her arms with ease.

This was not a reaction he had expected. His face was stoic, and showed little response as she attempted to injure him. When it was painfully obvious that she was failing, she turned from him and again dropped beside the young man's form.

"Please, Nicholas.." she whispered through her sobs. "Please don't leave me. You're the only one who knows me. Please, don't go. Breathe.." It would be at least sixty years before Peter Safer would invent cardiopulmonary resuscitation, but even Elizabeth realized that frigid water filled his lungs instead of precious oxygen. She began to push upon his chest, and when that failed, she turned him to his side. "Oh God, no!"

As if by some miracle, the body shook with a cough. Putrid water was forced from his lungs again and again, until he vomited. Stomach emptied as well, the eyes did not open and his flesh began to shake. Elizabeth seemed to forget the presence of the brooding man above her, and instead fled into the bedchamber. There she retrieved as many blankets as she could find. She returned to the edge of the water and gripped at Nicholas' wrists. She had to get him off of the cold stone. She attempted to drag him upwards, and managed a mere foot before she slipped herself, cracking her elbow hard against the stone. She could hardly feel her fingers. Eyes filled with tears, she glanced up - praying for some sort of pity from the man above her.

"Help me, please!"

He made no motion to move, and his face seemed expressionless. She reached for his hand, clutching it pleadingly.

"Please, Master! Help me. Help me save him," her mind searched frantically for the words that would sway him. With a numb realization, she spoke. "I will stay with you. Forever."

An unreadable expression filled those horrible eyes, and he finally moved. He scooped up the boy and carried him further into his domain. Perhaps this was a brother? He dropped the body rather unceremoniously onto the bed that Elizabeth had slept in, and left the room in that same silence.

Elizabeth did not have the time to consider his odd moods. Instead, she busied herself peeling the freezing layers from Nicholas. He finally roused a bit, squinting upwards toward her.

"Elizabeth?" His normally lyrical and lovely voice was rough and broken. She wept into his palm, as he lifted it to her cheek.

"Hush now, I am here. We must get you warm." Nicholas attempted to smile at her, and when he failed - slipped back into the world of dreams. Elizabeth had him huddled in a massive pile of blankets quickly, scarcely noticing that she herself was soaked and shivering. Nicholas' breathing was raspy and worrisome, but for the moment - the rush had passed. All she could do was wait.

"Your brother?" Erik inquired from his perch in the doorway. He had watched the entire encounter. Elizabeth merely glanced over her shoulder and glared at him. He smirked at her.

"Must be someone important, little pet, for you just sold your very soul for his."

Only then did Elizabeth remember her promise, made in haste and desperation. Her eyes went wide, and he nodded through his laugh.

"Oh yes, and I will hold you to it, little Beth. Now, come here."

Elizabeth did not move, glancing toward the face of Nicholas. Somehow in the scuffle, his dark and velvety mask had managed to retain it's place upon his face. Beside of it, his flesh was deathly pale and his lips were still tinged blue. She reached for his mask, and removed it. The familiar disfigurement greeted her gaze, and this time she was not repulsed. It was simply Nicholas, familiar and safe.

"_**Now."**_

Elizabeth scuffled off of the bed and approached Erik as if he were Satan himself. Her head was cast low, the mask still clutched protectively in her hands. He reached for her, and brought her body close to his.

"You're freezing," he murmured into her ear, as he began to unlace her clothing. She wrenched herself free of his grasp.

"I can do it," she stated haughtily - with a false courage.

"I am sure you _can_, but I _will."_ Erik produced a dagger, from seemingly nowhere Elizabeth thought in the moment before a careful slash rent her clothes in two. They fell apart at their new seam in the front, and she cried out in horror. Two small arms were not enough to cover all of the delicate flesh exposed.

"You've given yourself to me, little beth. That means **_all_** of you." Erik smiled darkly, and reached for her. Just when she thought he would touch her, claim her - he grasped her shoulders roughly and turned her from him. He shoved her in the direction of a different room than Nicholas lay in.

"You'll find a gown in the armoire. Put it on," he commanded easily. "And then return. Your little patient will need a lot of care and I'm afraid I'm not so inclined to give it, little Beth."

Elizabeth scurried from him into the safety of the room he had gestured toward. Oh, what hell had she condemned herself to!


	25. Familiar Faces

**A/N - Me again! This might seem like an odd place to leave off, but I try to make each chapter only about three pages long. This was getting into the forth page and this was the best stopping point I could find.**

**Please continue to give me reviews! They fuel my creativity.**

**Oh, and I know he just seems to be getting worse and worse. But I promise there will be balance. It just has to find it's way in.**

* * *

Elizabeth slept again. It really seemed quite odd to Erik, how often she had done that since finding her way to his lair less than a day ago. He had little respect for the ebb and tide of time, however, and in his realm it was always nighttime. She had drifted off huddled beside of the sleeping figure she had rescued from his grip in the hours before, but Erik had roused her and insisted she move to the other bedroom.

"It's not proper," he had mocked her, driving her from Nicholas' sleeping form. Now, however, he regretted that decision as the poor boy started hacking heavily. Erik knew that if he were not lifted to a sitting position soon, he would quite possibly choke on the matter trying to dislodge from his lungs, and die.

Decisions, decisions. Erik glanced towards the room Elizabeth had sequestered herself in. He would wake her. It was her pity that caused the situation anyway. A brisk stride brought him to the doorway quickly and he peered in at her. Even in her sleep she trembled, and her face was quite pale. At the very least, she would catch quite a cold from this encounter as well. With no one about to catch him in an act of tenderness, Erik allowed himself to enter the room and swaddle the sleeping girl-child in another heavy blanket. No, he could not wake her. She needed rest - and she was _his_ after all.

In the other room, that damnable coughing continued - disrupting the silent speculation Erik was enthralled in. He tore himself from her side and left her to peaceful slumber.

"Sit up," he called from the doorway where Nicholas' lay. Obviously, Nicholas did little to respond. "You'll choke to your death, boy.." Erik muttered in a vicious tone. Still no response. Erik cursed, and stepped into the room. It wasn't until he had looped a single arm about the boys shoulders, helped him to a sitting position long enough to regain his breath, and then lowered him to the pillow once more that his gaze fell upon the face before him.

Erik recoiled in horror, even as Nicholas struggled to find consciousness. _No, no, no. It couldn't be! Another child, cursed just as he was. What horrid wretch had fallen into his traps!_

Nicholas looked up blearily, his vision swimming. "MmBeth?" His words were slurred.

"Sleeping," Erik hissed, and then wondered why he bothered with an answer at all. The masculine tone struck within Nicholas' mind sharply, shattering (at least for the moment) all of the bleakness that crowded his mind and vision. He attempted to sit up, but failed miserably. Instead, he glanced quickly upwards at Erik.

"You!" He called, with a hint of recognition. Erik was taken aback. It had been easy enough to play along with Elizabeth. He had found her in his own dreams as well, and could only surmise through her responses to him that they had shared similar thoughts through the night. He could not place this young man or his distorted face, however, and was not inclined to pretend. How did he know him, anyway?

"Who are you?" Erik demanded, a wave of fury suddenly gripping him. He was at Nicholas' throat in as little as a thought, his fingers curled threateningly about it. Nicholas's eyes went wide initially, and then settled into a glower.

"Nicholas," he spat, angry even in his weakness. "You've been... torturing.. my.. she.. Elizabeth."

"You are her brother?" A single name was not much to go on. Erik struggled to put the pieces together.

"No," Nicholas replied, suddenly finding each word painful because of the biting in his chest.

"A cousin, perhaps?" Amusement flickered across the dark face above him, and Nicholas realized for the first time that Erik was mildly... insane.

"No," Nicholas managed again - the expression that crossed his face when he attempted to find a word to put upon the relationship betwixt himself and Elizabeth not being lost to Erik.

Suddenly a dark and smug grin crossed the masked man's face.

"_You love her,"_ he taunted, using that familiar tone that dizzied Elizabeth. It seemed to echo within Nicholas' mind, and he did not care for it. He shook his head to rid himself of the voice.

"Everything becomes crystal clear now," Erik murmured again, tightening his grip. Nicholas gasped, his arms flailing against the covers that Elizabeth had so expertly bound him in.

"**_She belongs to me,_**" Erik growled in a menacing tone. He would have proceeded to kill him without another thought, were it not for the voice which called to him from behind.

"Master! No! We have a pact, you and I. If you kill him, then I am free.." Through the panic that ensued her still groggy mind, Elizabeth found the words to ensnare him.

Erik made an animal-like sound of disgust and released Nicholas. Elizabeth rushed into the room and would have thrown herself atop the mound of covers if he had permitted. Erik caught her about the waist in a fluid motion, crushing her to him instead.

"Ah, but you're right my little pet. You will not touch him, however, as the little rat seems to love you." Erik chuckled darkly into her ear, mildly nuzzling against the fragrant curls he was so fond of.

Nicholas had finally gotten free from the covers, but found his limbs nearly useless. He could scarcely move.

"Evil bastard," he breathed at his father. In his worry and anger, Nicholas had completely forgotten that this cruel creature before him had created him inside of his mother's womb. Erik, for the moment, was delightfully busy holding the squirming Elizabeth within his arms. The distortion was oddly familiar, yes, but he would never make the connection on his own. He had only ever loved one woman, in that way, and she had left him. She would have told him of a child.

The insults only seemed to fuel the strange and maniacal ego of the one in control. He murmured in Elizabeth's ear, though his gaze lifted to mock the boy on the bed as he spoke lewdly.

"_Really, my dear.." _Erik hissed, in that tone that made Elizabeth quiver. _"It has been as many years as you have been alive since I've.. **known** a woman. Your wiggling is quickly tearing away at my resolve."_

Elizabeth stilled immediately, her pale complexion flushing a deep red. Erik admired the way the crimson crept along the swell of her breasts and along her chest - easily displayed in the neckline of the gown she had donned. His words had their desired effect - on both parties. Nicholas seethed with an obvious hatred for him, and Elizabeth had stalled all the silly wrestling.

"Do you require anything, Monsieur?" Erik quipped at Nicholas then, even as he stroked at Elizabeth's hair as though she were a pet indeed. His voice was thick with mock hospitality. The young man shook his head, vowing to himself that the moment his strength returned he would kill the beast before him.

When Nicholas declined, Elizabeth felt a tremor of fear wash over her. Surely that would mean Erik would sweep her off and they would be alone again. Her mind could not decide, however, whether she feared his overt forcefulness or his subdued seduction more. A look was passed between the two young lovers, one of a promise and the other apologetic. Amid the strains of his distorted laughter, Elizabeth was swept from the room - leaving Nicholas alone with his anger.

Erik easily deposited the girl upon the divan again, and paced in front of her. As he had observed before, it made her nervous.

"You'll not speak to him, except to inquire about his illness and needs related to it. You will not speak his name, answer his questions, or meet his gaze. You will, under no circumstances, touch him with more than your fingertips and only then if it is necessary to heal him. Do you understand?"

Elizabeth glowered. "You're a fool," she murmured brazenly. Erik cuffed her, and Elizabeth cried out at the pain that flooded her jaw.

"And you're mine," he reminded her softly. In a tone that was too soft, he finished. "I will kill him, Elizabeth, if you disobey me."

The foul taste of blood filled her mouth, and Elizabeth realized he had busted her lip. Erik seemed to notice that at the same exact moment, and crouched before her. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed with an odd sort of gentleness at her wound.

"There, there.." he murmured to her. "You'll quickly learn how to speak to me, child. Quick obedience will earn you my favor, a sharp tongue will earn you more of the same. You've given yourself to me, Elizabeth. This can be easy, or quite difficult."

Elizabeth found herself alarmed at the speed with which Erik could shift gears. Kneeled before her, speaking so softly, she again remembered how handsome he was - even with his age. He seemed endearing, and Elizabeth found herself wanting to pity him. To touch his cheek and warm his cold flesh with a kiss. The horror of her own thoughts caused Elizabeth to gasp. Erik dismissed it as a reaction to his touch upon her lip.

"I think you'll rather like being in my favor," Erik finished his thoughts, in something akin to a purr. His fingers played against the line of her jaw, and Elizabeth wondered how a monster of a man could know so precisely how to touch a woman to please her.

"May I know your name?"

Inwardly, Erik cursed the vixen before him. Confusion was etched upon her features, as well as fear. Her lower lip was swollen from his blow, and now trembled. He found himself unwilling to deny her.

"Erik."


	26. Ensnared

**A/N - Things have slowed down because I can't make more time for myself. Whine whine. At any rate..**

**AngelicFlutist - Thanks for all the reviews. I appreciate your faithfulness. I am trying to find the delicate balance with Erik. The more I see the show (on stage) and the movie, and reading the books - I believe that he is quite criminally mad, and he is often too 'soft' in these stories. I want him to be almost cruel, because I think he would have been. There IS a limit, though, and I hope I respect it appropriately.**

**my-echo - IT'S SATURDAY :)**

* * *

All of the traps Erik had set to protect his lair were apparently in perfect working order. Christine had narrowly avoided death more than once in the past few hours (had it been that long?) and only then because she knew to expect them. She stepped warily through the darkened tunnels, cursing the need for such caution. It was taking her far longer to descend than she had ever remembered. Who was Erik taking such measures against? Who was he trying to keep out?

Such musings were quickly cut off, as Christine heard the familiar creak of a gear suddenly pushed into motion. Her breath caught and she became as still as she could manage, waiting to see what would spring forth. From above, more than a few dozen ropes fell - all perfectly formed into the shape of a noose. Silence followed, and Christine felt a nervous laugh escape her.

"Still all about the show, hmm Erik?" Her voice was comforting in the eerie darkness as it bounced off the walls. She began through the mass of ropes, shoving them aside with her forearm.

Which rope had caused it, she would never be able to pinpoint, but Christine in her haste unintentionally triggered yet another snare. Suddenly the floor seemed to shift, causing her to lose her balance. She gripped at the circular ropes hanging above to prevent her fall. Doing so only seemed to rush the change in the surface beneath her feet. Suddenly a thousand dagger-like blades thrust upwards at her. She would scarcely be able to move. A quick glance behind confirmed that the shimmering points washed well behind her in a sea of danger. Christine groaned, knowing she could not hold herself up for very long. Her arms had already begun to tremble.

Upon further examination of the trap before her, Christine realized that she had nearly cleared the danger area before causing the second phase to occur. If she could only swing a bit, perhaps she could leap over the blades. The burning in her muscles prompted her to do something, and so she began to kick her legs methodically - wishing for once that she did not have all the layers of skirts on. The momentum began to build, and just as Christine's fingers would have slipped against her will, she released herself in an attempt to launch into the empty stone floor.

The searing flash of pain that filled her first confirmed that she had failed, and then sent her into unconsciousness.

* * *

Nicholas found himself unable to control his wakefulness, slipping in and out of consciousness frequently. While awake, he would strain to hear the voices in the next room - trying to discern the conversation betwixt captor and captive. Oddly, he thought they were discussing opera. Sleep had claimed him again before he could muse on the thought, and now he finally roused from it again. 

"Elizabeth!" He called, unable to wonder about her condition any longer. Nicholas thought he heard Erik laugh, before Elizabeth appeared quickly in the threshold. She approached, tentatively placing the tips of her fingers against his forehead. Nicholas attempted a weak smile at her, and realized that her pretty eyes were downcast.

"Look at me," he breathed softly. "Has he hurt you?"

With the little bit of strength he could muster, Nicholas reached to touch her cheek. Elizabeth flinched and pulled away with a look of horror upon her face. She shook her head fiercely. Nicholas recoiled at her response, worry filling him.

"What has he done?" He spoke louder, and Elizabeth shushed him.

"Are you hungry?" She finally spoke, her voice trembling though she seemed to speak more loudly than was necessary.

"No." Nicholas murmured, again reaching to touch her. What had the monster done to her? She would not even look at him!

Elizabeth nodded at his response and evaded his touch quickly, beginning to exit the room.

"Yes," Nicholas called after her, realizing it would keep her with him for even a moment longer. Elizabeth nodded, and allowed her gaze to meet his for the briefest of moments. She offered him a weak smile, hoping to calm him a bit. Nicholas did find it soothing. At least the madman had not somehow turned her against him.

Elizabeth stepped into the main cavern again, and trod toward the tiny kitchen area.

"I seen you," Erik murmured, without glancing up from the book he seemed engrossed in. "This is your first warning, little Beth. Do you doubt my promise?" His tone was laden with threat and Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest. Thinking better of it, she simply inclined her head in a gesture of obedience and moved to make a meal out of the sparse commodities provided.

Again without warning, something within the tunnels seemed to pique Erik's interest. He gazed into the dark depths for more than a moment, and then stood quickly.

Erik glanced toward Elizabeth, faithfully working to create sustenance for her little friend. If he left them alone, he knew she would disobey him. Perhaps even plot against him, or try to escape. The boy was still terribly weak, though, and Erik doubted he could walk. She would not leave him. He decided to permit them the little moment they'd no doubt steal together. Something had triggered another trap, and he would not have any more unwelcome guests stumbling into his home.

"I'll return. Remember my commands. I see all and hear all," he muttered, before disappearing. Elizabeth glanced after him, but he had moved so quickly she could not even tell which direction he had went.

The meal came together much more quickly with the promise of a conversation with Nicholas lingering. She carried the tray with hot, steaming tea and some simple breads and cheese toward her weakened friend. This time she brazenly met his gaze, and settled onto the bed beside of him. She even offered him another smile.

Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief, reaching to cup her warm cheeks in his cold hands. She flinched at the chill, and then nuzzled against them - offering her warmth.

"I'm not allowed to speak with you, Nicholas. Or even look at you. He'll kill you, he says, if I do. I do not doubt his word."

Nicholas' heart was heavy with the fear written across her pretty features. He vowed to himself that if they survived this encounter, he would take her away from it all and make good on his wishes - to make her happy every day of her life. He tugged lightly in beckon, and Elizabeth lowered her head.

"I do not fear him, Elizabeth. I only fear for you.." Nicholas breathed against her lips, before stealing a kiss from them. She sighed at the pleasure of his gentleness, parting her lips in invitation. Nicholas accepted the beckon, and explored the velvety recesses of her mouth in a leisurely, doting kiss. The sound of a curse from afar broke their embrace, and Elizabeth untangled herself from him.

"Please understand, Nicholas, I must obey him. I have..I.. to save you.. I mean, you were dying.. And I couldn't.." What a time for words to fail her! Elizabeth flushed deeply and looked away. "I have promised myself to him, in return for your life. Now eat, I won't have my promise go to waste because you starve."

She was trying to tease him, but all Nicholas felt was anger. How could she give herself away to such a man? And for his sake? Oh, Gods he had caused it all then! Nicholas growled, and attempted to draw himself up. Immediately the room started to swim about his head and everything began to darken. He heard Elizabeth's sigh, and then felt her lips across his forehead.

"If you care for me, Nicholas, you will be calm. Please.."

And everything disappeared then, sleep and weakness claiming his mind once more.


	27. Christine

**Another installment! More to come, I assure you :)**

**Thanks to my two faithful reviewers. It is for you that I write :).**

**my-echo - Tick tock, tick tock! Only two hours left in Saturday!**

* * *

The shadows were welcoming and familiar to Erik. He had created them, in many ways. The labyrinth that would so easily confuse anyone else was home to him, and he found his way through the tunnels with ease. Within minutes, he had located the source of disturbance.

A snare had been triggered, and the cleverly twisted rope had fallen from the ceiling. Obviously, the victim had also tugged upon just the right rope, because the mechanism releasing countless blades from the floor beneath had acted as well. Strangely, however, it seemed to be.. a woman?

Erik cursed loudly. For one so used to silence and solitude, all of the sudden attention was becoming rather tiresome. He squatted lower to assess the damage.

The face was completely hidden - a mass of familiar chocolate curls hiding it from him. Erik allowed his gaze to survey the rest of the twisted body. A blade had pierced through the woman's side, and blood had already pooled profusely about her. The curve of her thigh was also punctured, and her calf. Though it looked quite painful, indeed with the blades still inside her flesh it must be torment, Erik mused that the woman was quite fortunate. All vital organs had been avoided and though she might die from loss of blood, she would otherwise recover fairly easily. But what to do with her?

"The more the merrier," Erik muttered sarcastically, and reached with deft hands to remove the woman as gently as he could manage from her confines. She cried out, even in her pain-induced sleep when the blades slid through her flesh in retreat. Erik cringed, imagining the sensation.

"Foolish woman," he chided her quietly, lifting the light form into his arms with ease. Strange, she felt so.. familiar.

Doubling back towards his lair, he carried her in darkness - his attentive gaze focused forward. The last thing he needed was to trip one of his own devices and kill them both. As he neared the opening into his odd sort of home, his attention shifted to something altogether different. He could not see Elizabeth in the main room, and surmised that she must be in with Nicholas. He grumbled inwardly, pondering how to punish the insolence he knew would come, rushing forward more quickly. Just as he reached the cavern, Elizabeth scurried out of Nicholas' room with a guilty expression. Erik would have scolded her, but again Elizabeth's sweet voice prevented him.

"Mama!" Elizabeth cried in horror, staring at the face of her mother. "What have you done!" Elizabeth, for what Erik would have stated was the millionth time that night, began to weep. Erik cast his gaze downwards into the form in his arms, and was repulsed to find.. Christine!

His stern and domineering expression softened to one of concern and surprise, and he quickly settled Christine upon the divan.

"Foolish woman," he repeated, the words taking on an entirely different meaning as they passed his lips. "Elizabeth, in the drawer - bring me bandages and all that you find." Elizabeth seemed to shocked to move, her tiny body wracked with sobs as she watched on in horror.

"_**Now!"**_

The slight frame snapped from it's reverie and she hurried off. Erik was left alone with the form of his life's love. He gazed at her face. She had matured well, and the delicate young woman he had known and coveted was gone - replaced with a vivacious and beautiful woman. Seeing her brought back a surge of unwelcome emotion, making Erik feel weak and exposed. The last thing he needed in his current situation.

"_Oh, Christine.."_ He muttered too softly for Elizabeth to hear, even as she rushed back in with an armload.

Quite matter-of-factly, Erik ripped away at the clothing upon the woman who had once been his heart's desire. When all of her wounds (and more) were exposed, he busied his trembling hands with tending to her. First, the bleeding had to be stopped. Once that had been accomplished, he used a form of alcohol to rinse away any impurities.

"Hold her still, Elizabeth.." The tone was gentle and even, and Elizabeth would have liked it at any other time. She did not understand his words, until he began to stitch the wounds closed. Though she had appeared to be unconscious, Christine suddenly jerked with a loud cry. Elizabeth sprang into action, attempting to hold her own mother down.

Erik managed to mend all three of the wounds rather neatly, slather them with a healing salve and then bandage them up. When the work was done and he was convinced Christine would not bleed to death upon his divan, his eyes took her in again. Despite the obvious maturity in her face, she seemed so fragile again - within his grasp. Suddenly realizing her state of disrobe, he muttered huskily to Elizabeth.

"Find a shift to dress her in. Loose. I'll need to change her bandages often."

Elizabeth obeyed.

An hour had passed since the arrival of Christine. Erik seemed to be brooding, and had not spoken to Elizabeth since. Christine had not stirred, and Elizabeth had managed through scarce whispers to convey to Nicholas what was occurring. Finally the impasse was ended.

"Erik!"

His head snapped up, the tormenting emotions that had been coiling within him pushed aside. It was not Elizabeth that had called for him, but Christine. He was at her side in a breath. Her tiny hand lifted to stroke the exposed side of his face, and she smiled weakly.

"Am I dead, my angel?" The voice was as sweet as he remembered, and softer than Elizabeth had ever heard. She watched in a fascinated horror as the monster smiled back, cupping her mother's hand.

"No, child. But quite nearly. Why, Christine? Why come back into these depths?" It was as if the question answered himself within his mind. A flash of anger filled his gaze, and Elizabeth was surprised to find that Christine did not cower. She was, apparently, more accustomed to his moods.

"I gave you your wish once, Christine. Your precious little lover. I gave away every hope of having someone love me the second time, for _you_. Again, you shattered my twisted heart. Was it not enough to destroy me twice, Christine?"

The meaning of the words were lost upon Elizabeth, but she felt an overwhelming pity for the man at her mother's side. Obvious conflict raged across his handsome face.

Christine trembled at his words. She had nothing to refute him with except the truth, which she feared would fall painfully short.

"I had to, my love. Don't you see? You've always had my heart, but I could not decide for myself. There were.. other factors." Christine cast a wary glance towards her daughter, and then looked back to Erik, engrossed in their discussion.

Erik brooded. "Other factors? Something more valuable than a man's soul?" He spat, obviously bitter.

"A child's soul," Christine murmured softly, attempting to calm the raging beast.

Something flashed within Erik's gaze, and at the same moment they both turned to look at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth suddenly felt very naked beneath the two set's of eyes upon her, and turned to retreat. She had seen enough of the display. It caused a riotous course of emotions in her. Jealousy, first. Over which party she could not be certain, but also a strong sense of anger for her father. What had her mother just admitted?

"Fate has brought her to me, dear Christine." Erik's tone once again was heavy with menace. He lifted himself from her side - glancing at the retreating form of Elizabeth. "She's given herself to me."

"Erik!" Christine chided, attempting to sit. What way had Elizabeth submitted to Erik? Christine felt horrified at the thought. "She is my child!"

Their argument was disrupted by a male voice, calling into the din.

"Elizabeth.."


	28. A Son

**A/N - Thanks for your faithful reading, dear reviewers.**

**A few notes on this chapter.**

**If Erik and Christine seem to reference a few things that don't make sense, just glean what you can from it and try to accept it. I am doing a careful dance about myself here.. They are referring to a history created together in my other fanfic (Enigmatic Darkness) which I have not yet posted. It needs a bit of revision and proofreading, and also I don't want to post more than one incomplete story at a time. So at any rate, I am having to type very carefully so that I do not give away all of the secrets of the other just in case you guys choose to read it. I am trying to make it all as clear as I can despite that, however!**

**Welcome aboard Cassio. I agree that Erik is mad, literally. Poor guy, been living all alone in something akin to a dungeon for eighteen years. (That's not even mentioning the time before that, during Poto as we know it.) I hope that his lust for Elizabeth doesn't gross you out too much. Try to realize that it is really not personal at all, and not so much a sexual lust as just physical. He hasn't had conversation in as many years! Can you imagine how soft her hair must seem, to him? He's terribly lonely, and while he is quite the buffoon and likes to torture her with innuendo, I assure you if there was any sexual attraction it would only be because of her resembelance to Christine. He's a pitiful wretch who sees Elizabeth much like a pet. And what does one do with a pretty kitty except pet it?**

**All will work out in due time!**

**I do want to warn you guys, while I can be quite angsty - this will probably have a happy ending. Does anyone mind?**

* * *

Christine gasped, attempting to sit up. The movement only brought a searing pain into her flesh and made her cry out, falling back again.

"I thought he was dead," she managed through the hissing that was her current breathing.

Erik shook his head in disdain. "No. He was, but your little flower revived him somehow. He would have died from the cold, then. But we.. bartered, Elizabeth and I."

Christine found herself uncomfortable with the raw malice that had crept across Erik's features. It had been almost two decades since she had seen this man, once her angel, and things had obviously changed.

Erik was currently staring off towards the sound of the voice, waiting for the girl who would no doubt scurry to his side to appear again. It all made him feel a bit ill, really. He had severely restricted her actions around him, but still the adoration Elizabeth felt for Nicholas seeped through and served to remind Erik that he would never have such a love. Christine could not read any of the emotions displayed, as the cool white mask was all that was exposed to her of his face. She could see the tremble in his hands, however, as they turned to fists.

Elizabeth finally appeared, obviously quite flustered. She glanced toward the entry to Nicholas' room, and then to Erik. Christine recoiled at the words that seemed to flow easily from her daughter.

"Master, may I?"

Erik consented with a nod, and as soon as Elizabeth had disappeared he turned toward Christine with a growl.

"You must be terribly upset," Christine murmured softly - reaching to touch Erik's hand. He jerked his hand away from her touch as though she were a flame, and canted his head aside. In a mocking tone, he spoke.

"Whatever do you mean? Eighteen years of solitude and suddenly my house is full! What more could a demon want?" The pain in his voice was cleverly hidden amongst the sarcasm and spite.

"About the boy, I mean.. He must have.. I mean.. I am sorry, Erik. I should have told you sooner. I did not know what had become of him, and I did not know if you would even want to know. I did not know if you would even see me again, after..." Christine's voice trembled, and Erik found her insecurity infuriating. Once her delicacy and innocence had been one of the most appealing things about her, but in his current state of mind it only made her seem weak.

"What _are_ you prattling on about, woman?" He retorted, resuming his fervent pacing. It did not seem to have the same effect on mother as on daughter.

"Nicholas," Christine said tiredly. "Surely he told you that he's your son.." Somewhere in the midst of her sentence Christine realized that Erik did not, in fact, know this.

The ghost, quite accustomed to control in nearly every situation, blanched. His eyes widened and he immediately glanced towards the path Elizabeth had trod. Could it be?

"Preposterous!" He scowled, casting a fierce look to Christine. "You would be so cruel, Christine, to laden me with lies?"

Christine felt crystalline tears pool in her eyes as she thought of their tangled past, and the events that had transpired just before their last meeting.

"Have you seen his face?" She goaded softly.

"I am not the only abomination on this planet, I am sure.."Erik reasoned.

"He looks like her," Christine added softly, hoping her soft tone would cool the flame of anger in the man opposite her.

Erik suddenly raged, drawing his hand back to strike Christine. Elizabeth had already felt the weight of his blow, what difference would it be to deal the same fate to Christine?

"_**Do not speak of her!"**_

His hand stalled before it could progress toward it's trajectory. Erik was now panting in his anger, and spun about on his heel. He felt as though the cool air in his dank cellars would suffocate him. The walls of the cavern seemed to be closing in. His mind had been left to it's own madness for too many years, and now the sudden influx of humanity threatened his sanity. He had to escape them, to leave them all behind.

Christine watched the agony in Erik's face. She could scarcely move, much less do little to comfort or console him (not that she really expected he would accept it). He had the expression of a wild and wounded animal. Madness flashed in his eyes. Christine felt a deep fear of him, that she had never experienced before. Her emotions found voice in a soft sort of whimper. "Erik!"

The cry that pierced his tormented mind toppled it all. Erik released a sound not unlike a wail, and then clamored away from the wounded Christine. He did not look back again, before he disappeared into the darkness from which all three of his visitors, by one path or another, had come.

* * *

Their own voices were enough to temporarily block out the discussion that was obviously becoming heated in the other room.

"My mother is his whore, I believe.." Elizabeth said smartly, even as she sponged Nicholas' bare chest with a cool cloth. The chill had finally released him, but now his body blazed with fever. It had just set in, and Nicholas was still quite coherent. He captured her small hand and pressed it to his lips. They felt like fire as they pressed into her palm. Elizabeth managed a smile.

"No, I do not mean that.." she continued her thoughts. "But I do think she loved him. Oh, how complicated can this all be, Nicholas? The man I love was fathered by a beast who tormented both of my parents, nearly killed him, and would keep me as a slave."

Elizabeth, noticing her startling admission, blushed furiously and averted her gaze. Nicholas simply stared at her in silence for a long moment, his mind racing. Could such an angel really love a deformed man such as himself? Even after seeing what madness may run in his veins? He could sense her embarrassment and felt the need to comfort her primarily.

"Oh, sweet Beth. If life were only like it is in those books you enjoy so much. We would already own a mansion, you and I, and we would travel the world - seeing every strange sight your pretty little heart could fathom."

When he made no mention of her overzealous words, Elizabeth smiled demurely at him. She opened her mouth to speak.

"_**Do not speak of her!"**_

The words were fierce and threatening, and echoed about in the tiny room they were situated in. Elizabeth grimaced.

"Perhaps I should check on her," she murmured absently, obviously not so inclined to face such anger from the beast. Nicholas caught her tiny fingertips.

"After my fever breaks, Elizabeth, my strength will recover." The words were beginning to run together, his speech failing as the fever began to invade his mind. "I will take us from here, from him... I promise.."

A slur of incoherent speech followed, and Elizabeth continued her faithful ministrations. She had no doubt that the fever would run it's course and, if properly tended to, Nicholas would be fine. His eyes finally closed, and Elizabeth allowed herself to gaze openly at him for a long moment. She could see a remarkable resemblance between him and Erik. Nicholas' skin was tinted more darkly, which Elizabeth explained easily by his mother's heritage as relayed by her own mother. The features, however, were quite similar. Elizabeth assumed that marring such as was on Nicholas' face was hidden beneath the mask her captor always seemed to wear. Though she had not seen them stand toe to toe, they seemed to be of the same height and stature. If there were any major differences, Elizabeth would speculate that Nicholas was thicker than Erik. Nicholas worked day in and day out, hard physical labor. If his lair were to provide any clues, it seemed Erik did little but dote upon his music and brood. He was quite slim, as opposed to the sinewy muscle that made Elizabeth feel so protected within Nicholas' arms.

Elizabeth sighed, breaking herself from her reverie. He would sleep now, and so she stood - deciding it was indeed time to face the two outside. Just as she stepped back into the main caverns, a animalistic wail pierced her ears and made her cringe, covering them protectively.

Erik disappeared like a wraith into the darkness, and Christine stared after him in.. longing?

"Mama!"


	29. The Birth of Fury

**A/N - A little shorter than usual, but here ya go. More later, I hope :)**

**Thanks for the great reviews.**

**And the promise of brownies..**

* * *

Erik stumbled through the darkness until the images flashing so fervently in his mind forced him to his knees. He literally could not see through the faces and memories that now haunted him. In an odd moment of clarity, he muttered.

"I am going mad."

When he could progress no further safely, he simply slumped against the damp wall and huddled into himself. The great and mysterious opera ghost was reduced to a fetal position, as the past began to torture him.

It was as though he was dreaming, and yet he was wide awake. He could see with his own eyes the wall in his home, and the broken mirror. The heavy sash moved aside, and she stepped through. A beautiful and wild creature with the skin of a gypsy. She smiled at him, and muttered some nonsense about a pastry. Erik reached for her, but in the darkness only found air.

"Emina," he choked, the sound echoing about him. The mirage continued, and she smiled at him. A startling and purposeful smile, a sincere smile. No one else had ever smiled at him that way. He could feel her fingers upon his face as she removed his mask. Expecting horror and revulsion, the beautiful figure reached for him instead. Drawing his horrid face downwards, she spread a million soft kisses upon him. Erik wept then, at her tenderness.

"Oh, Emina.."

They had made love. He remembered it now with painful clarity. Every touch, every embrace. She had given herself to him, and all of her love. It was then that Erik realized he could not influence the actions of the man in his odd daydream. It was him, to be certain, but he could see and feel his emotions with a detached sort of air. As if he were a wraith indeed. He seen himself take the woman, and delight in it of course. But he could also feel the cool detachment. Why, oh why had he not allowed himself to love her? To return her precious love?

There, within the mind of the male lover, he found his answer.

_Christine._

The vision shifted dramatically. Suddenly Erik found himself in a tiny room, and Christine lay weakly upon the bed. She was pale and her eyes were distant as she stared upwards at the ceiling. Erik rushed to her, cupping her tiny face in his hands.

"Mon ange," she had spoken, and then fallen asleep. Erik had carried her from that place, muttering peaceful words into her ear.

Again the image shifted, to his lair. There were two women with two distinctly different holds upon him staring at him.

Christine was making a demand, an offer. What was it? Erik struggled to hear the words.

"Send her... I will... him. I will be..." and in a painful moment, the point became clear. Erik thrashed against himself as he realized the error in his decision.

"_Send her away, and I will leave him. I will be yours, Angel."_

And he had obeyed. The only woman to truly love him, he had driven away. The pain in Emina's eyes as she turned to glance at him just before disappearing from his life forever, was an expression that had haunted Erik every moment since.

His dream stopped there, allowing the beast within it's clutches to calm in his labored breathing. It did not continue for some time, and Erik could nearly make out his surroundings again before it did. This time, however, the faces before him were unfamiliar.

An older woman was doting upon a pregnant lady. Oddly, from the back, it looked like Emina. In his dream-like state, Erik stepped forward to touch her shoulder. She turned to smile upwards at him.

"A child, Erik.." she had exuded, happiness etched in her features. She was glowing in pregnancy. "Our child."

In a flash of light the scene had yet again changed. Erik was in a birthing room. Emina was calling out for him, but she could not see him as he attempted to comfort her. Another cry was heard, an infant. Erik could only watch helplessly as the light in her eyes faded. Despite all of his attempts, he could only catch a fleeting glimpse of the tiny child before they ushered him off. His face was marred, much like his father's.

"A boy," he heard the midwives say.

As if rushing through a tunnel, a myriad of memories crashed down about Erik all at once. The years of solitude, plunking away desperately at his piano while above a small boy had been beaten and tortured for his face.

The fit of madness passed in a blink, as simply as it had come. Erik found himself splayed about the floor of the tunnel, his clothing soaked with sweat. He pushed himself upwards, still panting.

What did all of this mean? His rational mind demanded to understand. Could he really have a son? A child? He had always known the mistake he had made. He had always regretted his choice. He did not know the consequences of those actions, though. He should have known! He could have protected the child. He had allowed a child to endure the tortures he had. He had failed yet again, this time as a father.

Erik groaned. It all seemed to stretch his ability to reason and think, and he could feel the madness creeping in again. He struggled for composure against it, and stood. He was not sure how long he had been gone, but he needed to see Nicholas. To decide for himself if this was true.

As he wound his way easily back towards his labyrinth he found the cool and calculating part of himself retracing the events of all those years ago. Suddenly, he found a point to shift the blame to. Or rather, a person. A deep and dangerous anger began to burn in him, speeding him in his pursuit. He would deal with his..son, oh how his mind thrilled and cringed to think it! Then, however, he would deal with _her_.


	30. Tell Me About My Mother

**Another short one. Please forgive me. I decided to split the two scenes I originally had up into two chapters, though, because the next one will be a little long.**

**Also, I apologize if my writing slows here. The Erik inside my head is demanding that I handle his emotions very carefully and reflect them appropriately. I have to be careful not to whisk everyone off to happily-ever after as I would desire :).**

**One final note. I have already written about 50 pages of the other story (that takes place before this one). I was going to wait until I finished this story to start posting it, but the end of this is NOT that far away. (Within ten chapters, I believe..) Also, since such an enormous amount of the other one is already written, I can post it without confusing myself by writing two separate stories.**

**So check it out too! It will be titled "Enigmatic Darkness". I'm getting ready to put it up. :)**

**Thanks for all of the faithful reviews. All of you lurkers, please let me know what you think!**

* * *

What did a man say to a son he had never known? What words would a father have for a child, now a man, who had been sorely mistreated and abandoned his whole life? What did a murderer and recluse have to offer?

Erik pondered these things on his way back to his lair. When he returned, he surmised that he must have been gone much longer than he had realized. The lights were dim, most of the candles having burned out. Christine was still laying where he had left her, though her brow was creased with discomfort in her sleep. Years ago he would have longed to wipe that expression from her face, to bring her pleasure and make her smile. Tonight, however, he had to curl his fingers into his palms and stride past her quickly. Anger was the only emotion he felt for the wretched woman now.

A quick glance into the bedchamber Nicholas had been placed in assured him that Elizabeth, too, had succumbed to sleep. She was slumped awkwardly over the side of the bed, her head resting near Nicholas thigh while she slept. Nicholas, however, was not asleep. His fever had obviously broken, and his eyes were clear and focused as they rest upon Elizabeth.

Stealth had never been a problem for Erik, even in his more clumsy moments. He lingered in shadow, watching the boy in his own observations. Adoration was etched across Nicholas's features. He lifted a hand, and stroked an errant curl from Elizabeth's cheek. Suddenly feeling as though he were prying into an immensely personal moment, he stepped from the shadows rather unceremoniously. Nicholas looked up quickly. His features hardened, and a fear and hatred glinted in his eyes.

"What do you want?" His voice was barely audible, as an act of respect toward the sleeping girl. The soft tone did little to disguise his distaste for the phantom before him, however.

Erik did not know. What did he want? Too many years had passed. Too many wounds had been inflicted. He could not ask this young man to look upon him as a father, could he? Even if he did, Erik did not know what a good father was. He had never experienced that. Silently, Erik circled the bed. As he neared Elizabeth, Nicholas stiffened and sat up quickly. Obviously, the boy's strength was returning.

"Leave her be, you beast.."

Erik lifted a single finger to his lips to silence him. He stepped beyond Elizabeth, and pulled a stool up to the side of the bed. He was uncomfortably close to Nicholas now. Still he did not speak, instead he allowed himself to gaze freely at the young man's face.

How he had missed it Erik could not imagine, but the person before him bore a startling resemblance to himself. While his skin was a bit more bronzed than his own, the structure of his features was nearly identical. He did, however, have her eyes. As he lifted his elbows to rest upon his knees, leaning a bit closer, Erik felt himself trembling.

Nicholas was taken aback by the man's strange behavior. He recoiled a bit as Erik leaned near. Erik's face had a most unusual expression on it. Was it wonder? Curiosity?

"What do you want?" Nicholas managed, mumbling again. Now it seemed his father was staring at the ravaged and imperfect part of his face.

"Did you have a very troublesome life?" Erik had finally spoken, his voice heavy with concern. Nicholas scowled. Why did this monster suddenly care so much about his troubles?

"I am sure other's have had it worse," he muttered in defense, suddenly feeling very exposed. He canted his head aside to hide his deformity from Erik.

"I am sorry." The words were slow to come, and awkward. Nicholas guessed that Erik had probably apologized precious little in his life.

"It is of no concern to you.." he retorted, a bit too harshly. The hurt that flashed in Erik's gaze was easily read, and Nicholas felt a twinge of guilt for barbing him so.

Silence fell between them for several long moments. It was Nicholas who finally squelched it.

"You know?"

"Yes."

Again silence. A torrent of unasked questions began to surface in Nicholas's mind. For a moment, he had forgotten the terrible situation they were all in and the apparent danger. He could find the answers! But which question to ask?

"Was she beautiful?"

Erik did not have to ask who. "Yes, very." His voice was smooth, but tension was obvious in it's notes.

"Did you love her?"

Erik cringed inwardly. Had he loved her? Yes, with all of his heart and being. He had not realized it, however, until she was gone. She had never known..

"Yes, I did."

"Did you know?" The questions came freely now, bottled up within him for a lifetime. Nicholas felt an overpowering sense of relief at their expression.

"No!" Erik seemed shocked by the question, shaking his head empathetically. It was then that he realized he was only a madman in the eyes of his only child. Why should Nicholas expect any more out of him?

"No," he repeated again, more softly. "I would have.." Erik did not know how to finish. What would he have done? Swept a tiny infant into the bitter cold of his dusty cellars, never to see sunlight or laughter? No, not that. He would have done _something!_

Nicholas sensed the confusion in Erik, and simply nodded.

"Tell me about my mother."

Erik allowed himself to smile. It had been so terribly long since he had done that, sincerely, that the expression felt strange to him.

"Your mother was a beautiful gypsy. Her name was Emina..."


	31. Our Precious Raoul

**A/N - Hello my beloved! I am sorry I have taken so long. First, I wrote this chapter twice. The first time it was too fluffy. I am sorry, but I had to murder a majority of the fluff. Secondly, I have started classes again. Boohoo. I am now in a very boring computer class that I could teach :).**

**I am out of time, however. Therefore, this chapter might end awkwardly because they kick me out. I will finish as soon as I can manage, and update soon. Be patient with me as I settle into a new routine.**

**Echo - I am glad you're enjoying the other story. When I was reading over it, I found that the writing style seems a bit different to me than this one. What do you think? I can't put my finger on it, and I'm not sure I prefer one or the other, but it seemed very different. Hm. Anyway, I need some OW. C'mon girl! **

**Cassie - I am glad you're pleased with Erik, finally. Hope that continues.**

**AngelicFlutist - Where are you? I missed your faithful reviews. Check out my other story too, okay?**

**Everyone else - I know there are a bunch of you lurking and reading! Please review! The more attention I get the more I might be inspired to forget homework and write obsessively. C'mon!**

* * *

The sound of gunfire resounded throughout the cavern, in almost painful clarity. Each of the sleeping figures within bolted upright. Nicholas found himself alone in a darkened room. When had his father left? He couldn't be sure.

Elizabeth was alone as well, though was not suited to be so. She quickly scurried from her ornate bed and ran barefoot into the main parlor. Her mother was sitting upright with wide eyes.

"What was that?" Elizabeth hissed insistently. Nicholas was suddenly standing at the door of his room. Elizabeth turned quickly to gaze at him.

"Nicholas!" She smiled, though the pretty expression was short-lived. "You're up! Are you well? What happened?"

"Erik is, apparently, an apothecary as well. He had some magic tincture to return my strength. But where is he?"

A blank stare answered him, and she would have spoken if Christine had not interrupted.

"Elizabeth," she muttered, trying to bring her daughter back to the moment, to pressing matters. Erik was nowhere within sight, and a shot had been fired. He could very well be dead. But should she be pleased at such a thought, or horrified? Christine shuddered at the confusion that filled her.

Another shot filled the air, and three set's of eyes sprang toward it's origin. A tense silence followed.

"Where is he?" Elizabeth breathed. Nicholas crossed toward her, placing his hands on her shoulders in comfort.

They could do precious little except wait. Nicholas was not feeling quite strong enough to venture off into the dark tunnels alone, and neither would he permit Elizabeth. Christine could scarcely move from the sofa she had slept upon.

"Elizabeth, tend to your mother's wounds." Nicholas urged her calmly.

Elizabeth glanced up at him, wondering where he could find such peace in their haggard situation. He simply smiled down at her, and she noticed for the first time that his mask was replaced. It was eerie how much he resembled his father.

Nicholas seen her expression change, a different emotion reflected within the dark orbs. Was it distrust? Worry? Fear? He could not say for certain, but he did know that she had never cast such a glance his way until all of this had taken place. Would she reject him now, that she had seen his origins? Would she hate him because of the madness of his father? His jaw tightened, and he averted his eyes, unintentionally responding in the exact same way his father would. Elizabeth inclined her head in acquiesance and turned to tend to her mother. The bandages needed changing, and more salve needed to be applied. Otherwise, she was healing beautifully.

Time elapsed, with Nicholas pilfering idly through a stack of notes atop the organ. Elizabeth was busy with Christine, who seemed too distraught to speak. Finally, the silence was interrupted by a familiar tenor.

"Have you missed me?" Erik appeared, disheveled and angry. As he stalked up from the waters, Nicholas approached him first.

"We heard shots. Who was injured?" Erik nearly snorted at the sudden strength he found in his son. It was quite different from the pale boy laying upon death's door only (how many?) hours before.

"No one." Erik lied grimly. Upon closer inspection, Nicholas found that Erik's right shoulder was bleeding. He reached to touch it, and Erik swatted his hands away. Nicholas glared at him evenly, and then reached for it again. This time Erik consented, allowing the sleeve of his shirt to be torn away. The bullet had torn the flesh of his shoulder, but only as it grazed along it. It was little more than a deep scratch, and would heal easily. Both women had quieted, and were watching the scene closely. Their eyes widened as Nicholas defied Erik so openly. Most surprising, however, was the phantom's acceptance of it.

"Elizabeth," Nicholas called. She obeyed quickly, bringing her supplies over.

"Please sit," she asked Erik, in quite a meek tone. Erik growled lightly, but did so. He could feel the girl's hands tremble as she attended his wound. Nicholas hovered.

"Do not dote, Nicholas. I will not touch her," the words sounded bitter. Nicholas inclined his head lightly, and retreated a few paces. Once the wounds were properly bandaged, he pressed.

"Who was shooting, Father?" All heads spun in his direction as he so easily addressed Erik as such. Erik felt the term with a sudden weight, and a detached affection.

Erik hesitated to answer, and then glanced toward Christine. Anger was evident in his cool features, and he nearly hissed the name.

"_Our precious Raoul."_


	32. Trust

**A/N - Writer's block, classes, and etc have deterred me. Sorry!**

* * *

Two men had already lost their lives. The thought nagged at the haggard mind of Raoul de Chagny, even as he trudged toward these dank cellars. He had attempted to put this place from his mind for twenty years, and now fate was cruel enough to send him launching into it's depths with the same reckless abandon he had felt all those years ago.

_Keep your hand at the level of your eyes..._

Singsong words taunted his mind, but even still his hand obeyed.

"Careful," he muttered softly to those around him. It was of little importance that he spoke. The men were rightfully fearful for their very lives and could do very little to be any more careful. They had seen the cruel genius of their prey only moments before, when a trick of mirrors had revealed a thousand of him - with the Vicomte dead center. He had not spoken, only moved continuously, until Raoul had become so provoked that he had fired blindly. Not once, but twice. After the second shot, the shadow disappeared and they were left to their cruel wanderings once more, each man desperately hoping that the next victim would not be them.

* * *

Christine's face was white. Her entire world was about to crash about her feet. All of the love and hatred and emotion she had felt in her life would be housed under one god forsaken roof. And what would come of it? One of them would surely die. The wounds were old, but terribly deep. This time, there would be no peaceful end. As her mind attempted to sort through the terrible truth of the present, she could hear worried voices in the room.

"Papa?" It was Elizabeth, her sweet voice sounding child-like and naive again.

"Erik, let me take them to him. You must release him." Nicholas spoke, attempting to remain calm.

Erik did not speak. Truthfully, he did not seem to be listening at all. His gaze flickered between Elizabeth and Nicholas, and then fell upon Christine.

Their eyes met. For a moment, the anguish of a lifetime was assuaged and he could simply allow himself to see her. To _see_ her. Injured as she was, she was pale and weak. And terribly beautiful. Erik had known her better than any human alive, and he found that he could still read the emotions playing out upon her face with ease. She was sorrowful. For whom, he could only wonder. For her beloved husband, yet again dashing to her rescue - to save her from his dark embrace? No, Erik could see the pain in her eyes. The silent plea.

_Forgive me._

The weight of her glance proved to much for a man always teetering upon the brink of madness, he looked away. They could hear the sounds of feet shuffling and echoing through tunnels so far away.

Suddenly, warmth radiated through his shoulder. Erik withdrew quickly, and upon looking up found that Christine was the one who would dare touch him. She had somehow managed to find her feet, and move to his side.

"Trust me, Erik. Please."

"That's served me well before, hasn't it Madame?" The raw fury in his voice made Christine quiver, but not withdraw.

"I do not have the time to explain my actions, Angel, nor would any of my useless words begin to compensate for the pain I have caused you. Forgive me, Erik. Trust me. I do not wish to lose you."

Erik wanted to spurn her. To think of every anger and bitter word he could create with his tongue to inflict upon her spirit the same pain she had caused him. He could not find it in himself to do so, however. Years ago he had been full of passion, of desire and love and music. Tonight he simply felt - tired. Too tired to struggle with his inner demons, or with this angel. Too tired to hate her as passionately as his soul resonated that he should, or to love her as truly as he always would. He wanted it to end again. He wanted precious, lonely silence.

A simple nod was all that Erik would offer. His submission.

Christine sprang into action. They had precious little time to avoid the inevitable.

"Neither of you will speak. I will talk. No matter how offensive or untrue my words may be, please trust me. All will reveal itself in due time." Suddenly she sounded so strong again, so empowered.

"Erik, can you.. leave? My husb... Raoul is a headstrong man. He may very well insist on trudging down here to face you no matter what I say." Christine could see the anger in his face, his jaw clenching visibly.

"Please," she had continued softly. "You and I are not the only ones to consider now, Erik. Time has passed, things have changed." Christine referred to Elizabeth, and of course Nicholas who currently comforted the former.

Erik could not argue with her reason, even though he felt quite indignant about leaving his own home. With a gruff murmur, he stalked toward a heavy drapery upon one wall. As he pulled it back, Christine could not help but remember entering through that very same door - and seeing Emina in his arms. A flood of emotion suddenly threatened her calm, and she bit it back harshly. She could only watch as father and son exchanged a glance. A sorrowful, worried glance. A look full of questions that would, at least for now, go unanswered.

The Phantom disappeared from their lives.

"We must leave, now.." Christine spoke at last. Nicholas merely nodded. Elizabeth reluctantly released him. He paused, however, to brush his fingers along her cheek and share a secret smile. That did not go unnoticed by Christine, nor the way such a simple gesture seemed to spark both calm and courage within her sweet Beth.

In a motion, Nicholas swept Christine into his arms. She voiced complaint, but he shushed her and had already started towards a random tunnel. Being in his arms was eerie, almost familiar. He was so much like his father. His tone was brusque as he spoke.

"Elizabeth, I need you to remember. You alone know the only safe path from this hell. We will surely intercept your father along the way."

Elizabeth's doe-like eyes widened at the sudden responsibility. She had been in such a state of dreaming! Could she recall? She found courage from the fire in his eyes, and nodded a bit. Tentatively, she stepped out to take the lead.

"Make haste," Nicholas encouraged her, and she obeyed.


	33. Departure

**A/N - Aloha dear readers! Here is another installation in the story. I'm trying to slow things down a little bit for several reasons. First, because the story is well over half over, and I feel rather attached to all of these characters. I'm reluctant to give them up. Sniff.**

**Secondly, because I want the tempo to change a bit.**

**Now. Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. I'm so excited that there are new reviewers (Such as CherylCatherine). Let's all give them a hand. Applause**

**Thanks to my regulars. I enjoy your words immensely, my little musettes.**

**Echo. Where are you? Le sniff.**

**Oh, and Angelic - The other story is called "Enigmatic Darkness" and is basically a prelude to this story. :)**

* * *

The heavy moisture that filled the tunnels was stifling, and before they had traveled too far all three felt as though the dark and damp walls were moving. In fact, it felt as though they were being entombed. When Elizabeth could take the silence no longer, she spoke – her soft voice trembling.

"Mama?"

Christine was in a quandary all her own. She felt rather uncomfortable in another man's arms. Nicholas held her securely against his chest, and did not struggle in the least with her weight. She found, however, that her awkward position could only be relieved if she looped her slender arm about his neck. The position reminded her all too clearly of his father, and being held in much the same way. Reflexively, she allowed her head to rest against his shoulder. It halted the uncomfortable jostling tremendously.

"Yes?" She replied quietly.

"What will you tell him?"

Both women knew of whom Elizabeth spoke, and Christine did not have the words to answer. She had not decided yet, but in her panic and worry for Erik's life she had been convinced that the words would come to her. They always did.

Christine did not have time to answer. Suddenly the scuffling of their own feet and their own labored breathing was not the only sound that filled the dark cavern. They could hear the grunts of men and hushed whispers, the familiar clank of a rifle against belt loop, and an occasional cough. Raoul and his men were, if nothing else, announcing their presence.

"Papa!" Elizabeth cried out. All of the noise ahead of them ceased, and Nicholas could imagine them straining to hear her.

"Raoul!" Christine cried as well, suddenly overwhelmed and longing to be in her husband' arms. That was an odd sensation, one she had not felt for many years.

The trio could hear Raoul barking orders, and the flourish with which they attempted to locate them. Nicholas tensed beneath Christine, his arms tightening a bit.

"Tell them to stop," he murmured quietly.

"What?" She queried, attempting to look up at him through the darkness.

"The traps, Madame. They will fall into them. Only Elizabeth can navigate these tunnels without fail."

Christine bristled at his wisdom. Despite her hesitancy, she called out.

"Raoul! Please, be still. We will come to you."

"Christine!" Raoul called back, within speaking distance. The approach did not cease.

"Tell him," Nicholas urged again.

"Raoul, stop! The traps! Please!"

Finally silence filled the narrow tunnels. Elizabeth glanced back toward her mother, and Nicholas. She was obviously filled with fright, and weak from the entire ordeal. Nicholas smiled at her, as tenderly as he could manage in the given situation. He knew that Elizabeth was in a weak state and needed him, no matter how headstrong she was, or valiant she pretended to be. The smile was all the encouragement she needed. She turned back to the task at hand, leading them through the tunnels as if she had lived in them half of her life. Before long, they could see the glimmer of a lamp ahead.

Raoul dashed headlong towards them, sweeping Elizabeth into his arms.

"Oh! Little Beth, are you well? Has he harmed you? I swear to you, my darling, I will kill him." So angry and bitter was the Vicomte that he did not consider his words before he spoke. He did not think of how they might affect his delicate daughter, or how crude they really were. Elizabeth blanched, pulling away that she may look up into his face. Her resolve crumbled, and she began to weep. Raoul stroked her hair and whispered comforting words into the mass of curls. He lifted his gaze beyond Elizabeth, as Nicholas stepped out of the shadows with his wife in tow.

Raoul gently disentangled himself from Elizabeth, and stepped forward. His gaze narrowed as he regarded Nicholas, who bore a stark resemblance to the beast of their past. Also, half of his face was masked and the scene was too familiar.

After a moment of this, he glanced to Christine. Her face was white and she appeared so weak. He reached for her, and Nicholas gladly shifted her weight into her husband's arms. Christine cringed as she was handed off, her wounds being aggravated in the shuffle.

"Oh, my love. Christine. What has happened?"

Christine found herself staring into the deep orbs of her husband, filled only with love and worry. How many years had she neglected this affection? Christine flushed beneath the weight of her shame, burying her face in his chest. He turned without a word to Nicholas, and began the long ascent toward the surface. Elizabeth lingered, reaching for Nicholas' hand.

Nicholas accepted, allowing all of the officers and the Vicomte to march ahead. He hesitated, drawing Elizabeth's hand to his lips. There he placed a soft kiss in her palm, and then upon each fingertip. Elizabeth was caught off guard, and turned to smile up at him. He returned the gesture, and reached to cup her cheek.

A kiss followed, Nicholas dipping his head to taste the ambrosia upon her lips. A breathless moment later, he released her suddenly.

"Go," he urged, his voice husky with a desire she stirred within him.

"What? No. Come with me.."

Nicholas cast a glance over his shoulder, and then looked back to the petite woman before him.

"I must return, Elizabeth. Not forever. I have to talk with him, more. He is my father."

Elizabeth frowned. A part of her was angry with his words. How could he regard such a monster with anything but hatred? He had nearly killed her father, and mother, and seduced and abducted Elizabeth in her own dreams! Surely all of this was his fault. How could he leave her to be with such a man?

Elizabeth remembered the hushed words spoken by her mother, and Erik. Realizing that her family had injured that pitiful monster nearly as much as he had theirs, she sighed in defeat. Tears pooled in her eyes.

"Promise, Nicholas. To return."

Nicholas smiled. It was a full, charming smile. The disarming kind that made Elizabeth feel weak and caused butterflies to stir within her stomach. She could not help but smile back.

"I promise."

And with that, he was gone. The shadows swallowed him as easily as they did his father, and she could not even hear his footfall as he departed. Elizabeth stared after him for a long moment, and then turned to follow after her parents.


	34. Letters

**My dear readers!**

**I am excited to deliver to you, another chapter. I think I have done a relatively good job at keeping the fluff level to a minimum. Take this as your warning that the remaining chapters may be a bit more fluffy than all those before. Also, I know all of you may not be following both of my stories, but it is necessary to do so to see the relation between them.**

**Enigmatic Darkness will be a rather sad story. I have to redeem myself and my characters somewhere, so this will be a much better ending. You're warned:)**

**AngelicFlutist, Cassi, and all of you other reviewers. I appreciate your words and thoughts. Please continue!**

**my-echo - I am terribly sorry that you were ill! Now I feel rather guilty for pouting in your general direction over the delay in OW. I am glad you're feeling better, and I look foward to reading the next chapter very soon!**

**As a final note, I will try to update ED in a few hours as well.**

* * *

When strange things happen, it is hard to imagine that life will again resume it's normal rhythms. The sun will rise and set again, the body will require food consumption and rest. As if nothing significant ever happen, life will continue.

Elizabeth found this revelation suddenly strange and overwhelming. Her mother and father seemed to ignore the incident altogether, at least in her presence. They were acting strangely affectionate toward one another, the cool distance Christine usually placed betwixt herself and her husband was absent. Apart from this oddity, they did not speak again of the incident to Elizabeth nor in front of her.

Preparations continued, much to her dismay, for the wedding that was rapidly approaching. William DeGent was a frequent visitor at her home, despite her blatant refusal to see him. He would sit in the parlor with her father and talk endlessly about business or current events, and would charm her mother as well.

All of this served to infuriate Elizabeth. It was as though they had not been in the depths of hell itself and managed to escape unscathed. After all that had happened, all that Christine knew, how could they force her into a farce of a marriage with an insolent fool like William DeGent? Just as life returned to it's normalcy, so did Elizabeth return to her self-imposed exile from her family. She refused to speak to anyone except her ladie's maid, and only then because a soul would simply burst under a burden such as hers.

"It is all ridiculous, really." She huffed, even as she exhaled as sharply as she could manage to allow the young girl behind her to cinch the corset up even tighter. Her deft fingers worked easily at the strings.

"Perhaps it will not be so bad as you imagine, Mademoiselle. He is rather handsome."

Elizabeth sighed heavily, and turned abruptly to face the girl. This caused her efforts to unwind in a single breath, the corset sagging against her Mistress' body. Frustration was easily visible upon the maid's face, but Elizabeth did not notice. She was aghast that looks should dictate an entire marriage!

"Handsome, perhaps, but a complete buffoon!"

Elizabeth was turned at the urging of her female companion, and the dressing continued. Within moments she was presentable, her dark curls pulled atop her head in an unruly mess that framed her face quite charmingly.

A knock sounded at the door, and another young maid peeked her head in.

"A letter, Mademoiselle Elizabeth."

Elizabeth's face lit up, obvious delight and hope flushing her pretty cheeks pink. She rushed forward and snatched the paper from the girls fingertips, tearing it open. In all the time that had passed since they had left that dungeon in the earth, Nicholas had not contacted her. Not so much as a word had been sent to her. How she longed for him! To know that he was well, alive, and that he missed her too. He was her prince charming, the knight in shining armor that would _surely_ rescue her from this impending doom. Wouldn't he?

The words written were devoured quickly, Elizabeth sinking into a chair to murmur half-aloud.

_Dearest Elizabeth,_

_I understand your apprehension towards our upcoming_

_nuptials. I have not always treated you with the grace_

_and dignity a lady deserves. I do hope you will forgive_

_me that disrespect, and allow me to make it up to you._

_I **can** make you happy, Elizabeth. I will._

_Join me this evening, for a surprise. _

_Your eager groom,_

_William DeGent_

Disappointment washed over Elizabeth, finally giving birth to tears. She threw herself onto her bed and began to sob, inconsolable. The poor women in attendance attempted to calm her, and when she seemed to hear not a word she said, they gave each other bewildered glances and simply left her to her misery, closing the door carefully behind.

* * *

In the depths of the earth, time flows at a different pace. Nicholas had little to no concept of how much time had passed since he had given Elizabeth a kiss and sent her away with her fortunate family. He missed her terribly, the sunshine of her smile completely absent from this dark and frightening depth that his father called a home.

The aching void was filled a bit, with a newfound excitement. A curiosity that was shared between father and son. A lifetime had been missed, and they had much to make up for.

Though it may not seem odd to an outsider, both Nicholas and Erik were surprised to discover that they were remarkably similar. They shared many of the same interests and passions. Music was a delight they both reveled in, and Erik had taken immediately to teaching Nicholas how to play _properly_, as he called it. Science, literature, theology, philosophy. Their discussions were endless and ran long into the night.

Erik had mused over his son, as he slept awkwardly in a chair he had occupied during their last debate. For an entire lifetime he had sought love. First from a mother who despised him, and then from a pretty soprano who had rejected him and betrayed him. All those in between only sought to harm him, inflicting invisible but dangerous wounds upon his soul. That which he desired most, to be loved for himself, was within his grasp. How odd and utterly unusual that it would be a man to deliver such a love, and a **_son_** no less! How could he be an appropriate father to this brilliant young man? He had no example to follow, no concept of how to provide whatever he may need. And what _did_ he need? He was a man, after all, not a child.

The situation entirely befuddled Erik, but the very next morning he had excused himself from his son's presence and made his way to the surface. Extortion as a very lucrative business, and even two decades later Erik had a ridiculous amount of money hidden away. It would never find a purpose more noble than his current intentions, and so the opera ghost himself set out to procure a more prosperous future for his son.

Days later, it was Nicholas who broached the dreaded subject.

"I cannot stay forever," he muttered lightly, over their shared meal.

"Yes," Erik stated simply.

"I miss her," he continued, before biting into a piece of bread.

"Yes," Erik replied again, understanding all too well.

"She will marry soon."

Erik was caught off guard, both with the news and the dejected tone in his voice.

"Then stop her." The concept seemed simple enough to Erik, who had always tried to take what he desired by force.

"Her parent's wish it. I have nothing to provide for her. I feed horses to survive myself, and I scantly manage that. What sort of home would I offer her? A room in a stable? No, they are wise. The groom is a fool and a coward, but he is wealthy. He can care for her."

Nicholas was melancholy, and his words were weak – as though he were trying to convince himself as well.

Erik listened as politely as one so unaccustomed to propriety could manage, and then inclined his head in disbelief.

"Rubbish! You are the son of a Maestro, Nicholas. You can put the world at her fingertips."

Nicholas scoffed.

"There is still the matter of her parent's, Father."

Nicholas felt terribly uncomfortable with the glint in his father's eyes as he muttered his next words.

"Leave that to me."


	35. The Return of Passion

**A/N - Heeeeeey! ) Another update for you guys! I hope you like it. Woot woot. It will probably be Tuesday before I update. Sorry.**

**Thanks for all of the reviews. I enjoy them immensely.**

**my-echo - are you sick again? NooOoooO. Give me some OW! Some Reviews! You're like my muse, and you're gone. sob**

* * *

The dreaded time was at hand before Elizabeth realized it. Forced to make such a decision, the young girl relented to the pressure of all those around her. Without the support of Nicholas, it was difficult to struggle so fiercely against everyone in her life. Elizabeth consented to accompany William, though she did not know where.

A fine gown had arrived early that morning, a completely unnecessary gift. Her family was plenty capable of giving her fine clothing, but William had insisted that it was a gift and should be accepted graciously. Grudgingly, Elizabeth consented and was now dressed in the gorgeous attire. The gown was a golden color, with intricate adornments upon the bust. The delicate embellishments continued the length of the skirt, and the color accentuated the milky tone of her flesh and the deep chocolate of her curls. She was breath-taking.

William arrived at the precise moment he said he would, and to any other woman – would have looked amazing as well. Curiosity stirred within Elizabeth. Where could they possibly be going?

"You look…" William began, as she descended the stairs toward him. "Magnificent."

He was smiling, and although he reached for her gloved hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles as a true gentleman would, she could see the glint of lust in his gaze. It made her shudder.

"Thank you," she forced the sentiment quietly, gaze lifting hopefully to the rotunda about them. Perhaps her father would step in and save her from this charade. There was no one, save her own servant girl.

"Please tell Papa I've gone," she addressed the girl, who only nodded and then scurried off. With that, Elizabeth allowed William to lead her from her home, into his waiting carriage.

"Elizabeth," he began, once they were settled and on their way. "Please forgive me. It was the effect of the alcohol. I would never harm you. You will be my wife, I will love you and care for you. No one will ever hurt you again. Only please, forgive me my mistake?"

For a moment Elizabeth was almost fooled into believing he was sincere. A glance upwards into his eyes and she found the same sort of maliciousness that always seemed to lie dormant there. She simply pursed her lips and diverted her gaze.

"Where are we going?"

William sighed, obviously feeling dejected. He settled into his seat once more, lifting his hand in an expressive gesture.

"It is a surprise, Elizabeth. Something I wanted to give you. Think of it as a wedding gift, my dear."

He could feel Elizabeth tense at his words. Their nuptials were looming, only days away now. With a bit of a smirk, William consented his companion her silence. It would not be long until she belonged to him, he could tolerate her indifference that long.

* * *

"Tell me again, Christine. I am not sure I am following you."

Raoul was pacing again, while Christine sat rather calmly upon the divan.

"DeGent is apparently not as wealthy as they let on. One reason they were so desperate to procure Elizabeth's hand in marriage. It is all a farce, a ploy. Apparently Monsieur DeGent took a chance on some venture many months ago, and was taken for a fool. Most of their fortune is gone."

Christine seemed so cool, and calm about it all. On the inside, however, she was trembling. She had nearly forced her daughter into a marriage of convenience merely to keep her away from a peasant. One that Christine had been convinced would ruin her daughter's life, much as her own had been. That thought had horrified Christine the moment they had returned to the surface. Nicholas had disappeared, strangely. Christine did not know if the young man would ever return, but she did know that she could not force Elizabeth to marry a man she did not love. In the delicate balance of aristocracy, however, one did not simply cancel an engagement such as this. Half of the Parisian upper-class had wound weeks of their life about this marriage! And so it had not taken long for Christine to find the conniving edge within, and hire a few men with colored pasts themselves to peer into the accounts of DeGent, looking for something. Anything.

Raoul was harried, and his hair was mussed from the way he constantly ran his hand through it.

"And so she must not marry him! Not that she should have to begin with. I've been telling you…"

Christine stood, and approached her husband. A finger upon his lips silenced his retort.

"You've been telling me many things, for many years, my love. I did not hear much of what you have said, admittedly. I am here now, though. I hear you. I trust you. You are right. Please forgive my ignorance of before. Forgive me for seeming cold, distant, cruel, and anything else I may have inflicted upon you. I apologize, my dear husband. I love you."

Crystalline tears filled Christine's eyes, but did not fall. She smiled upwards at her childhood sweetheart, her husband of so many years. Lifting up to tip toe, she pressed a kiss to his lips – attempting to smooth the shocked expression from his handsome face.

Raoul _was_ moved by his wife's words. His precious Christine. What had happened, in the depths of those cellars, to bring her mind and spirit back to him? Raoul decided that this was not the moment to pose such an inquiry, and so instead he kissed his wife. Deeply, passionately. They had not shared a kiss like that in many, many years.

It was Christine who finally pulled away, breathless. Her lips were swollen from his kiss, and she looked for all the world like the young girl he had rescued in the Opera House so long ago.

"Elizabeth," she muttered, in attempt to bring the conversation back on topic. "You must speak with Monsieur DeGent. Convince him that his secret is safe, so long as we peaceably cancel this whole affair."

Raoul was quite distracted from the topic. He only nodded mutely, his gaze lingering upon his wife's lips. It had been years since they had been intimate, his emotions finding it more simple to ignore that aspect of his affections. Now, he felt as though he could not resist her a moment longer. He dipped his head to taste of her lips once more. Christine laughed.

"Raoul!" She complained lightly.

"Alright, alright," he murmured, stepping back again. "What about the affair? The flowers, caterers, the entire debacle we've spent a fortune on?"

Mischief sparkled within Christine's gaze. "All we lack is a groom."

It was Raoul's turn to laugh aloud. "Oh, and where do you suppose we attain one of those?"

"I will handle that.." Christine murmured, reaching for her husband once more. In between feverish kisses, she murmured.

"Until then…"

They both laughed, and lost themselves in one another's. Christine _did_ think of Erik. Only this time, unlike before, it was a soft prayer of thanksgiving whispered in her heart. Simple words that expressed a lifetime of pent-up emotion. Their encounter in the bowels of the earth had finally solidified Christine, easing the confusion. She would always love him, yes, with a part of her. But he had given her freedom, though she could not say what moment it had come in. Freedom to live, and to love.

"_Thank you for letting me go."_


	36. Nerves

**A/N - Dear reviewers! Thank you so much for all of your kind words. I am immensely pleased that you are enjoying this adventure as much as I am. I apologize that things have slowed down so much. Life is kicking my butt. I promise an update on Tuesdays and Thursdays until Twisted Fate is finished, at the very least! ED is going to drag out quite a bit longer, I'm afraid. This is much more of a 'short story' than that one promises to be. And then I have an idea for my own! modern day parody thing. Hah. At any rate...**

**It is very sad that ED will be a tragic story, but the end of this one is my redemption for that. Fluff is coming! Mwah.**

**echo - You alive? )**

**Oh, and ED will be updated in a bit, so check it out too!**

* * *

"It's beautiful," Elizabeth admitted, a bit begrudgingly. The enormous building they were touring was indeed a beautiful estate. Large rooms were tastefully, if a bit plainly, decorated with obviously expensive décor. William was delighted to whisk her through, having left the realtor in their wake.

"This is the ballroom. Isn't it marvelous? Think of the parties we could have!" William was nearly giddy, and Elizabeth was more taken aback with such an emotion in her companion than with the promise of the house. It seemed a little big to Elizabeth, and foreign. Nothing in it seemed warm or welcoming. It certainly was not home, no matter how opulent. They ascended the stairs quickly, Elizabeth choosing to relinquish her hold upon his arm as he nearly ran up them. Her opposite hand reached out to trace the length of the railing. It was a beautiful wood, polished nicely.

"Oh, please forgive me Elizabeth. In my excitement I have forgotten my manners." Smiling broadly, William scooped her up to his side, placing her hand back upon the crook of his arm.

_That seems to happen to you often,_ Elizabeth mused, albeit to herself.

The first room atop the stairwell that they entered was a library. Massive shelves lined the walls, and though they were empty, Elizabeth could imagine them full of books that William would never read.

Next they stepped into what would be, William proclaimed, their bedroom. A large four poster bed with white linens faced exactly opposite an ornate fireplace. William turned to make eye contact with is fiancé, smiling a bit too suggestively.

As Elizabeth gazed at the bed, she felt her stomach churn. How was she ever to go through with this? She could never share a bed with the horrid man upon her arm, no mater how handsome the entire world may think him. She despised him. Imagining his hands upon her body simply made her shudder.

"Elizabeth? Are you feeling ill? You look terribly pale."

Elizabeth seized the opportunity. Lifting the back of her hand to her forehead in a gesture that Nicholas would have laughed at, so overly dramatic was it, she murmured in a pitiful tone.

"I am not feeling well, William. Please take me home?"

"But Elizabeth!" William complained. "I had an entire evening planned for us. The Opera, Elizabeth!"

Even such a lure as that could not persuade Elizabeth, and within half an hour William had deposited Elizabeth back at the de Chagny estate. She had quickly sequestered herself into her room, ignoring both mother and father who came out to speak with her.

* * *

_Elizabeth's Wedding Day_

"What will this mean?" Nicholas asked quietly, as his father stalked ahead of him. He could see the broad shoulders ahead of him shake a bit, as laughter emanated from him.

"Boy, if you can't figure that one out, I cannot help you."

Nicholas fumed.

"Don't be crass, Father. I mean for us. I surely cannot marry the daughter of the woman you love, if for no other reason than her father would not permit it!"

Erik sighed, and turned in the dark tunnels to face his son. The flickering torchlight illuminated the handsome face, and Erik could not help but smile fondly at the sight of him. He had become rather accustomed to his presence, his company. To be loved as a Father was a gift that he would have never dreamed of. He would miss the boy as well.

"Nicholas, do you love her?"

"Of course!"

"Then you must pursue her. Have her. A lifetime without love is no life at all."

Nicholas felt a twinge of pity, and Erik glared at him. Nicholas averted his gaze, finding it unnerving that his father could read his expression so easily.

"A lifetime without the love of a mother or father is no life at all either. You know this as well."

Erik conceded his son's point with a dip of his head, and simply resumed their journey to the surface. What would become of them all?

"Come with us," Nicholas stated suddenly, piercing the quiet.

"Don't be ridiculous," Erik retorted. "You don't even know where you are going."

"You've placed the world in my hands. We can go anywhere!"

Erik laughed again at the enthusiasm and almost naivety of his son. The conversation continued until they reached the surface, and hesitated in the shadows of the very early morning.

"This cannot be right, father. Who will stand beside me? I have no groomsman. You should be with me on such a special day."

Erik smiled, tugging at the lapels of Nicholas' jacket to straighten it.

"I would not miss it, my son." The grand and ominous Phantom of the Opera averted his gaze as his eyes misted with emotion. "I will see, I promise you this."

Nicholas nodded, taking a wavering breath.

"What kind of husband will I be? I've only ever been a servant."

"Nicholas," Erik demanded. "Calm down. Don't forget to breathe. A woman needs love more than anything other. Be affectionate. Be gentle. Live each day as though she were all that mattered. Everything else will fall into place."

Nicholas smiled up at his father.

"Erik?"

Erik's head canted. Nicholas had not called him by his Christian name in weeks.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Erik smiled.

"I love you too, son."

With that, the ghost ushered his son into the early morning, and disappeared into it's shadows. He had preparations of his own to make.


	37. The Marquis

**A/N - Sorry for the delay! I tried to put this up yesterday but ff wouldn't let me. Pout pout.**

**Thanks again for all of the reviews. I thrive on them!**

**Cassie - I am sorry you are lost. Try reading the last few chapters again!**

* * *

Elizabeth had always been an imaginative girl. She had spent many childish years trying to convince her father that a mighty dragon did in fact live under her bed. On most days she was a princess, and all of the servants about her the royal court. There was no end to the possibilities! Out of all of her fantasies, the day she would marry had always been Elizabeth's favorite. There would be flowers, rows upon rows of them! Her dress would be white, of course, and the most gorgeous creation that had ever been. Her father would be there, beside of her, and at the end of the aisle would be the most handsome prince she had ever seen.

Today hardly seemed to compare to her dreams. The morning sky had been beautiful, and nearly cloudless – and then suddenly it had begun to rain. A torrential downpour matched Elizabeth's mood, and even her precious papa could not bring a sincere smile to her face.

"My love, my sweet precious girl," he had said only hours before. "Please do not be so downcast."

Elizabeth had only smiled forcibly at him, and then looked back to the mirror. Her gown was beautiful enough, and the bounty of dark curls were captured upwards in an elegant twist – two loose curls falling to kiss fair cheeks and frame her delicate features. She was breathtaking, and her father had told her so. She could not bring her heart, however, to mirror that joy.

"Yes, Papa" the obedient child replied. Raoul sighed. He had promised Christine that he would not reveal the change to his daughter, but seeing her in such a mournful state on her wedding day was more than his conscience could bear. He had crouched down, until he was eye-level with her.

"Child," he murmured, his voice gentle and soothing. "Things are not always as bad as they appear. Do you have faith, Elizabeth?"

"In God?" Elizabeth queried mildly.

"Of course."

"Yes, Papa." Again, a dutiful answer.

"Then you must have faith that he knows your heart, as well as he knows all of ours. Things will work out for the best, and you will be blessed."

Raoul smiled, and Elizabeth nodded. Understanding his words as an admonishment, she again struggled to settle this discord within her soul. She would marry William DeGent, and be the best wife that she could manage. Perhaps she would even learn to be fond of him, but she would never love him.

Now, hours after the discussion with her father, Elizabeth trembled with nervousness.

"Little Beth?" Raoul queried, rapping lightly at the door. Elizabeth stood, clutching the bouquet of flowers protectively. She had obviously been weeping.

"It is time," he murmured again, and extended his arm in invitation. Walking to him, Elizabeth began the most dreaded trek of her life. To the altar.

* * *

Nicholas felt as though he could not breathe. He stood in a small room off of the sanctuary, peering through a crack in the wooden door. There was a massive crowd filling each pew within the beautiful cathedral. Flowers were strewn everywhere, and for all the pomp and circumstance, it was very beautiful. He could not imagine how he would walk out in front of all of those people, however.

A tap upon his shoulder caused Nicholas to turn quickly. There, before him, stood Christine de Chagny. He smiled through his worry, lifting a hand to rake it through his dark hair.

Christine smiled. They had not spoken since that day in the tunnels. All of the schemes and plans had been hatched quite awkwardly betwixt herself and Erik.

"Elizabeth does not know yet."

"What?" Nicholas rounded on her, shocked. "She cannot be forced to marry someone if she does not consent! How do you _know_ she would care to have me as a husband at all?"

"Marquis Morel," Christine chastised softly. "You should calm yourself. A man of your station does not act so impulsively."

"_Marquis?"_ Nicholas queried, by this point thoroughly confused.

"Your father did not tell you?" It was still quite an odd sensation for Christine to speak of such intimate relations between the two men, but the road to healing was a long one and she was pleased enough to at last be on that road.

"No," Nicholas fumed, pacing now.

"Please, Nicholas." Christine spoke again, reaching to place her hand upon his forearm. "Do calm down. All the papers have been procured. You are now a Marquis, with your own land and quite a fortune. Erik has given you all that he had, it seems."

Nicholas' mind raced. How had Erik accomplished this? He remembered random mutterings from the masked man about money purchasing anything in a great enough quantity, but a claim to nobility? And if Erik had indeed exhausted his fortune upon him, what did that mean for Erik? What would the future hold for him? Poverty? Nicholas growled lightly at the conflicting thoughts in his head.

"_Morel?"_ He finally questioned, and Christine could not help but laugh lightly. It was a pretty sound, Nicholas noticed. It made him miss Elizabeth.

"Well, yes. Apparently Erik had gotten the poor man thoroughly intoxicated before he finished the papers. When Erik could not think of a surname of his own accord, the man declared that he was dark and swarthy. Therefore, Morel."

Nicholas furrowed his brow thoughtfully. It was not a terrible name. He had not had a surname in all of his life, what an unusual way to receive one! Finally he nodded his agreement.

"Fine," he muttered.

"It's time for you to take your place," Christine urged him. "I must go and speak with Elizabeth quickly. Today, she will be your wife." Christine abruptly hugged Nicholas, to which he awkwardly responded by patting her shoulders. Christine felt a strong sense of regret that Nicholas was alone on this day. Despite all of her efforts, she could not find a way to permit Erik an open attendance. Raoul did not know the entire truth of the matter and hopefully, never would. To her dear husband Nicholas was an unfortunate young man with a sad past. A little research into his past, however, had discovered that he was the only son of the late Marquis Morel. Both the Marquis and his wife had perished in a fire, and that was the same accident that had left his face horribly scarred. Without identification on the tiny child, he was ushered off to an orphanage. Only now had they discovered his true nobility, and after having claimed the title once more, he was more than a perfect fit to be Elizabeth's groom. The future would be uncertain and difficult, no doubt, as Raoul still expected a new business partner in Nicholas. Those worries were for a later time, however. Christine smiled again at Nicholas, and then turned to leave. Nicholas took a deep breath.

From the corner, it seemed, a voice.

"I am here."

Nicholas did not bother trying to find the source of the voice. He understood both truths that he could neither uncover his father, nor should he. Nicholas simply smiled in the direction the voice had emanated from, finding courage in the familiar sound.

"Thank you," he muttered lightly, before stepping out the door and taking his place beside the priest.


	38. I Do

**A/N - Boo Hoo! It's almost over! After this will be an Epilogue. Perhaps one more chapter before it, but I haven't completely decided yet.**

**Thanks again for all of the great reviews! I appreciate them.**

**To answer the question about William; I have a few ideas, but I've not incorporated them yet. Let's just say this, he's NOT gone! Mwahaha.**

**Also, you guys DO know there is another installation following this one? So it's a trilogy. First is Enigmatic Darkness, which will definitely be updated tomorrow.. and then Twisted Fate, which is almost done :(, and then there will be a third part. It will explore the Nicholas/Elizabeth relationship a bit more than we were able to accomplish in this one, as well as find out what the future holds for Erik and where William does fit into it all! **

**PLEASE REVIEW :)**

* * *

The music was pleasant. Nothing special, and no one present would think of it again after that day, but still the sweet chords rang through the sanctuary. It was a familiar melody, and it heralded the arrival of the bride. Nicholas had turned, still rather nervous, to glance in her direction. What his gaze found was nothing less than astonishing.

The Vicomte de Chagny, of course, looked regal in his fine dress regalia. His dark hair, greying at the temples, was swept away from his fine features simply and his gaze was proud. A smile shone upon his face as he glanced toward his beautiful daughter, upon his arm.

The bride appeared more than a little reluctant. Her steps were calculated and slow, and even from his distance Nicholas could tell that she trembled. The gown she wore was magnificent, hugging her exquisite form in a most appealing manner. It was carefully intricate, delightfully simple. _It's perfect_, he thought. His gaze ventured higher to find that her eyes, those eyes that captivated him so, were cast downwards. Oh, how he longed to see her smile at him! He needed that smile to assuage his fears, his uncertainty. He needed to know that she desired this at least half as much as he did!

He did not have long to wait, for before he realized it, Elizabeth was before him. Her father had placed a parting kiss upon her cheek, and then stepped away - joining Christine in a nearby seat. All those attending settled as well, in a rustle of gowns and creaking of the wooden pews. The moment seemed surreal, as the priest began to speak. His words were lost upon Nicholas, who could not hear above the incessant pounding of his heart and the screaming of his mind. _Look at me! Please, sweet Beth, only look at me._

His beloved did not seem inclined to obey the silent beseeching, and so he acted quite brazenly. He extended his hand, and captured her own. At first he thought she might wrench it from his grasp, but then it seemed she remembered herself and simply left her trembling hand within his own. He could feel her fear, her inhibitions. He could not allow her to pledge her life to him, without even realizing who he was! He could not allow their union to be tainted with the memory of such fear. Completely disregarding all propriety and order, he spoke softly over the drone of the Priest. Only those closest to them would have heard the simple words.

"My sweet Beth.."

* * *

The journey to the altar was, without a doubt, the longest _and_ shortest that Elizabeth had ever experienced. Despite her attempt to prolong it, she found herself near the groom and Priest before she knew it. Alternately, she felt as though she were a prisoner marching toward the guillotine and the way spread out before her endlessly.

The relative warmth and comfort her father had provided was taken away as well, with only a soft kiss of betrayal. Elizabeth stood stoicly, obediently before William, her mind racing. She had not even had the opportunity to tell Nicholas goodbye! A single kiss from him now would be adulterous. She would never taste his lips again! How selfish he had been to not come to her, knowing her plight and destiny. And how selfish and childish she was, to even think such things.

The tears that filled her eyes threatened to spill over, just as William reached to take her hand. Instinctively, she started to jerk it away from him. His was the last touch she wanted in this moment! The dull monotone of the Priest seemed to taunt her, and despite all of the courage she had attempted to muster moments before, Elizabeth felt as though she may very well collapse. She relented to the hand upon her own, needing it for strength. Just as she neared the brink of her tears, emotion threatening to overwhelm her, she heard a voice. Familiar and wonderful.

"_My sweet Beth."_

The words were out of place, spoken even as the priest continued his bit about love. Elizabeth glanced up sharply, and found the masked face of Nicholas before her instead. She shuddered, fearing that her mind was deceiving her. Pretty tear-filled eyes dropped quickly, away from the much desired apparition. It seemed unfair that her mind would torture her in such a way now!

Nicholas felt a pang of regret as she looked away from him, fearing it a signal of rejection. He would **_not_** be the one to force a marriage upon Elizabeth that she did not desire. He released her hand, and intended to speak. He was taken aback, however, to find that Elizabeth had reached for his hand once more, capturing it securely and tightly within her slender digits.

The eyes that he found gazing upon him were still glossy from those tears, but hope and appreciation filled them. Not least of all was love. Nicholas could see it radiating from her beautiful face, and that sweet smile he had longed for. It made tremors in his soul. No other person had ever looked upon him with such open affection.

The Priest continued.

Nicholas could not help but smile as well at his bride. Silently her mouth formed the word, _"how?"_

Nicholas felt like laughing, knowing that she would find the story quite remarkable when he had time to recount it to her. In answer, he simply shook his head almost imperceptibly as if to say 'not now'. Elizabeth squeezed his fingers in consent.

The Priest had stopped talking, and looked to Nicholas expectantly. Nicholas glanced up in confusion, and the priest instructed him in a whisper.

The time had come to make their vows, to declare before God and man that they did desire to be wed. Nicholas, however, had to be sure. He uttered the words beneath his breath.

"_I love you, Elizabeth."_

"_I love you too."_

"_Marry me?"_

"_Yes."_

"I do," Nicholas finally stated, even as the crowd had begun to squirm at his apparent hesitance.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, with promises of love from the two giddy lovers. Finally came the moment Nicholas had been longing for. He was instructed to claim the lips of his _wife_ in a kiss.

Their lips met, a fire raging within the two. Nicholas slipped his arms about her waist, cradling her against him even as she encircled his broad shoulders with her own arms. The kiss lasted much longer than propriety would have deemed necessary, but neither cared. They were finally parted at the insistence of the Priest, and both laughed.

The organ began to play a jubilant tone, and they reluctantly released one another.

"My wife," Nicholas laughed softly, stealing another quick kiss.

"Yes, my husband!" she chimed, even as they were ushered back down the aisle. An elaborate reception awaited them, as well as the rest of their lives.


	39. Italy

**A/N - This is offically the last chapter. A prologue will come probably Thursday, and then we will move on to the next story.**

**I've written out how I want to reveal certain information to you. A lot of your questions will be, at least partially, answered in the Prologue. A lot of it will not flesh itself out, however, until we start the new story. :)**

**Also, be warned. This is a particularly fluffy chapter. Okay, it's purely fluffy. But it's the last chapter, and after writing so much angsty stuff I wanted everyone to be happy! Hah!**

**One last thought. I hope you don't mind the semi-aggressive behavior Nicholas exhibits. I think that the two lovebirds will have found quite a niche for themselves, and be comfortable in each other's presence. Also, I think the playfulness and banter in their relationship is one of my favorite aspects. Plus! It makes him more like daddy. Mm.**

**Thanks for the reviews, please continue. **

* * *

By any standard the reception had been marvelous. All of those in attendance had sipped the most expensive wines and feasted upon an exquisite meal. The only thing that seemed out of sorts was that the bride and groom seemed to disappear again and again, missing most of the spectacle save for those events which specifically required their presence. As the evening finally waned, Elizabeth and Nicholas were ushered off into a carriage that was decorated in honor of their recent nuptials. Once the familiar clod of horses' hooves sounded, and the din behind them was gone – they were finally _alone._

"Nicholas, you must explain all of this to me. I fear that I am dreaming and any moment it will all be snatched away. Where have you been? Not a single note did I receive! And who is the Marquis Morel? And where are we going?"

Nicholas laughed lightly, shifting to encircle her shoulders with his arm. The gesture was not uncomfortable nor unfamiliar to the two, only now it seemed a bit different. There was no unspoken rule between them, preventing any small touch from escalating into more. Both felt the tension, and Elizabeth's lips parted in something similar to a gasp. She glanced upwards at her new husband, and smiled. For all the world she looked shy. Nicholas simply pressed her more closely to his side, and tipped his head to brush a kiss to her temple.

"It's a long story, my love. But I must know one thing from you, first. Why?"

"Why?" Elizabeth echoed in confusion.

"Why did you marry me? Simply because I am less detestable than William, or because we are good friends?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Both of those things, yes." She could feel Nicholas stiffen, and he averted his gaze. His jaw tightened, and she lifted her fingers to brush that flexed muscle. "And so much more," she continued in a whisper. He turned quickly to gaze at her once more, and she smiled upwards at him.

"Do you remember when we used to picnic in our secret marsh? I would nestle into your side and recount all of my dreams, and you'd simply laugh and tell me that I could own the world?"

"Of course," Nicholas' deep voice resounded quietly.

"And then I would complain endlessly about marrying William, and beg you to sweep me away, to make me _your_ wife?"

"Yes, but.."

Elizabeth interrupted him and continued.

"I meant all of those things. You thought I was only teasing, but I love you, Nicholas. You mirror my soul, you complete me. You…"

Elizabeth realized how bluntly she was speaking and was silenced by the recognition. Blush stained her fair cheeks and she looked away. A finger crooked beneath her chin, however, forcing it upwards. Within Nicholas' gaze she found only love and acceptance, and it warmed her. His lips claimed hers, and with a soft moan of surprise she responded. Nicholas lifted a hand to tangle in her luscious curls, the other stroking the length of her side where it rested. Her small hands lifted to his chest, and then to his own neck where her fingers curled against the warmth of his flesh. Both were gasping for air by the time they broke the kiss. Elizabeth laughed lightly.

"Something amusing, wife?" Nicholas queried, with mock displeasure.

"No, husband," she replied, assuming the same tone of voice comically.

"Then why were you laughing?" He probed, even as his fingertips trailed the smooth column of her throat and began to stroke the pale flesh at her collarbone. Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, undoubtedly a witty reply to continue the game, but his touch gazed her to shiver and she squirmed within the seat. When she could find no words to reply, it was his turn to laugh.

"I will please you," he murmured brusquely against her ear as he nipped at her earlobe.

"No doubt," she replied almost breathlessly. Nicholas ceased his teasing then, and simply embraced her.

"In all ways, Elizabeth. I love you as well."

Elizabeth smiled, somewhat relieved that Nicholas had stopped his ministrations. She felt desire strongly for him, that much was certain, but she was also quite nervous. Besides, her mind had reasoned, a carriage is hardly the place. His words broke her reverie, and she simply mewed in response as they continued out of the city.

* * *

_Two Months Later_

"E-liz-a-beth.." the voice resounded again, in a singsong manner. Elizabeth groaned and pulled the pillow over her head.

"No," she cried softly against it, though the sound was muffled.

At the silence that followed, she thought she had won and simply allowed herself to drift back to sleep. The tickle of lips upon her thigh roused her once more, however, and she quickly tossed the pillow aside. Propping up on her elbows, she glanced down at the intrusion to find her husband smiling mischievously upwards at her. He was, just as she, completely naked. Even his mask had been discarded in their lovemaking the night before.

"You have the grin of a Cheshire cat, my love.." she teased. He only smirked, and dipped his head to taste of her flesh again, nipping at her shapely thigh.

Elizabeth issued a soft moan and reached to tousle his hair.

"I'm up," she complained softly. "You incessant tease. We hardly have time!"

Nicholas laughed.

"Italy will be there whenever we arrive," he replied, fingertips stroking the curve of her hip.

Being reminded of the plans for the day, Elizabeth tossed her leg over his head, effectively disentangling herself from him. She jumped from the bed excitedly, her face simply beaming.

"Oh! I had forgotten! Rome, at last!"

Nicholas rolled to his side and watched his young wife as she scurried about their lavish room, muttering about which dress she would wear for the journey. The shape of her body was appealing, and suddenly he had little desire to do any exploration outside the doors of their bedroom. Thoughts of her slender arms wrapped around him, those shapely legs fastened about his hips, and those dark curls within his fingers caused him to growl lightly. Elizabeth halted in her current quest at the familiar sound, gaze tossed over a bare shoulder towards him. The fire in his eyes was one she recognized immediately, and with a squeal of delight she turned from the wardrobe and attempted an escape. He was upon her within a breath, however, sending them both to the carpeted floor with a thump. She groaned at the impact, and he rolled her effortlessly beneath him. Glancing up into his face, desire written across the perfect and marred flesh, she pursed her lips in a pout. He grasped her wrists and forced them above her, then began nipping roughly at her throat.

"We'll miss the train! You beast!" Elizabeth attempted to sound angry, though his touch upon her was forcing a hint of desire into the timbre of her sweet voice as well.

Nicholas only grumbled against her flesh and continued, and Elizabeth struggled against his hands, trying to free her own.

"You're mine," he stated, as he lifted his gaze to sear into her own.

With all of the love she felt in her heart for this playful man atop her, she smiled.

"Yes," she replied.

Nicholas smiled, and bit at her lip. Elizabeth conceded to his plans, and he released her arms. Just as she welcomed him into her embrace, he suddenly lifted himself from her and began to saunter rather arrogantly toward their bed.

"Really, Elizabeth.." he began, and even after two months she was surprised at how much control he had over his voice. Not a drop of the passion they had shared in the moment before was obvious. Instead it almost sounded like he were chiding her. "We must not miss the train!"

Elizabeth grumbled in defeat, and stood, face flushed.

"_Marquis Morel"_, she stated sarcastically as she walked toward him. "You will be the death of me!"

"No, my sweet.." he retorted, drawing her into his arms. "I will make all of your dreams come true."


	40. Prologue

A/N - **This is it! Boohoo. You know that delicate line that authors walk, between giving away too much information and finding the needed amount of closure? I hope I found a good balance in this. This is more of a tease for what is to come. I hope you will continue with this series in the next story and again I appreciate all of your input. You have been wonderful!**

_

* * *

_

Three Years Later

"Oswald would be a splendid name," Nicholas teased.

Elizabeth crinkled her nose in disgust and shook her head abruptly. "How horrid, Nicholas, really! Statements like those make me wonder if I really know you at all."

Nicholas laughed at his wife, then quipped quickly. "Well, my love, we have plenty of time to think about it."

Elizabeth's features darkened, and the laughter Nicholas intended to instill did not surface. Instead, she seemed saddened and Nicholas immediately regretted his words.

They had been married three years, and still did not have a child. It was not from lack of trying, that much was certain. Nicholas felt hardly concerned about the matter, rather enjoying their prolonged honeymoon. He enjoyed being the primary focus of Elizabeth's affections and was in no real rush to change the matter. Elizabeth, however, felt as though she were failing to give her husband a child. For some reason, she had internalized the guilt and blamed herself entirely.

Nicholas crossed the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Please, sweet Beth, do not leave me again. Those dark thoughts plague you and it is of no use! If we never had a child, I would be endlessly delighted to coddle you forever."

A small smile emerged on her lips, urging Nichols on with his talk.

"Besides, how _would_ we travel the world if you were heavy with child?"

In the short time they had been married, Nicholas had used the fortune his father had bestowed upon him to attempt to make every dream of his lovely wife's come true. They had visited Rome, nearly all of Europe, and even Asia. The Middle East had been most intriguing and they had spent more time there than anywhere else, and it seemed as though the Americas were all that lingered on the horizon for them.

"Africa, or America?" He probed, rubbing her arms lightly.

Elizabeth pondered, shrugging her brooding thoughts off.

"Africa! Within two months we shall have to move to America anyway, will we not? You've been flirting with those railroad tycoons for months!"

Nicholas smiled, nuzzling into the column of her throat.

"Yes, I suppose I shall have to work like a normal man again. Will you mind it terribly?"

"Of course not," Elizabeth encouraged him. "I am quite excited to see this new land. But Nicholas, will he be happy there?"

"Who, my love?"

"Your father."

"Yes, I believe so. They are erecting opera houses as quickly as any other building there, he will find his niche, I am sure. Are you terribly certain you do not mind his accompaniment? After all, he will live with us for several years at least."

Elizabeth nodded sagely. Such an odd encounter had introduced her to his father initially, and they both had been loathe to overcome it. Three years had melted the lines of indifference and softened the grudges, and they were now at ease in one another's company. Erik had finally offered a strained apology, which Elizabeth was inclined to accept. Since that time, he visited often, and she was able to begin to enjoy the genius that he was.

"I am certain," she affirmed at last. "It will make it quite difficult for mother and father to visit, but I am sure we can arrange it."

"Yes, I am sure he will be cooperative."

They both laughed lightly at the hidden humor in his words.

* * *

Erik scratched furiously at the parchment before him. A new song was birthed in his mind, and he simply had to express it upon the paper, his only lover.

The melody was intricate and no less spectacular than anything the opera ghost had ever composed, but it was missing a great deal of the familiar angst. This piece was to be a gift, and it expressed a simple and true love. He had only ever observed such pure affection between his son and his new wife, their company at first being strange and awkward. Now he secretly thrilled to be in their company, to bathe in the warmth of their obvious affection for him. For the first time in his life, he felt accepted. It prompted him to repay this debt in the only way he knew how, through music.

Erik was too busy to ponder all that had occurred since the wedding. He did not think of Christine, or of the bitterness he still horded toward her. Each day he attempted to bleed his dark heart of a bit of the hatred, and decided he was doing quite well in this endeavor. If her profile came into view upon the streets, such anguish did not fill him as before. He had stumbled upon the Vicomte and his wife laughing merrily, a genuine happiness reflected in their eyes. Though he was loathe to admit it, he was pleased that Christine had finally found the freedom he had attempted to give to her twenty years before. Even more reluctantly, he was glad that she had such a gentle man to care for her. She was much too delicate to withstand his passion, his love.

Erik did not dwell upon the drama that had followed, either. The DeGent family had feigned indifference at the sudden breaking of Elizabeth and William's engagement. Only when social pressures began to prod and attempt to find out what debacle surely lay beneath, did they come out with cries of complaint about the honor of the de Chagny estate. Raoul was decisive, however, and quick to squelch such an uprising with the truth of Monsieur DeGent's horrid gambling habits, as well as imbezzlement and a handful of other crimes. The entire situation had quieted, eventually, and Nicholas nor Elizabeth had ever heard about it. They had been off exploring some ancient ruin for the weeks it lasted.

Erik, also, had no way of knowing that William DeGent had taken personal offense to the slight and, being a scrupulous and cruel man, planned to find his vengeance somehow. Shamed in Parisian society, he had taken what little his parents had left him and moved to the Americas soon after.

For now the only thing that existed in this dark cavern was music, and his beloved organ. Erik would miss it terribly, but the idea of starting afresh in a new society was appealing. Nicholas and Elizabeth had domesticated him somewhat, and he had decided that instead of haunting a theatre in the new world, he would simply live in a house like a normal person. Though the concept had once been laughable, it seemed quite manageable now. Erik was even, a bit, excited at the prospect.

The gift would be ready by then, he was certain. He would share it with them then, once they arrived in the new world. A new start for them all.

The anticipation was sure to kill him.


End file.
